Transcendence
by Author M. Austin
Summary: Non-magic AU. Even as the planetary population of ES-5 quavers in fear of the terrorist Lord Voldemort's growing regime, a young boy is prophesied as the great general who will defeat him. Harry Potter is trained hard to wear this mantle, and he grows to become a formidable soldier, but will he destroy Voldemort before his mentors, his training, his very nature destroys him?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I really don't own the Harry Potter universe. How lovely of you all to think that of me though!

**Rating: M **for safety, for violence, for upcoming language, for grey moralities etc.

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><p><em>"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...<em>"

The most vivid memory Harry had of his parents detailed their deaths. Before that pivotal moment, he only had brief, colourful snippets, like his brain was a degraded memory board. A woman's face, scrunched up in perpetual laughter as her blazing red hair whipped around her head. A scruffy-haired man lifting him up into the sky, once, twice, three times. A melodious voice continually whispering in his ear, professing its love for him.

He vaguely remembered the place where he had lived: a little cottage far out into the wilderness, He'd known no company but his parents, the dogs and the occasional visit from Sirius and Remus, who could reasonably fit in the previous bracket, according to what his dad had said.

No-one but this select few ever entered the house; no travelling strangers or distant relatives of the small family stumbled across their little haven. So Harry remembered clearly when the man who breathed death arrived.

The dogs barked, and his parents' easy demeanours bled from their bodies. They pushed him back, behind them, forming a human barricade. The death-man brought a group of people with him, all masked and dressed in dark robes, and they swarmed into the house, spreading, blackening. His parents fought but were subdued, and Harry was caught up and bundled, no better than a pile of dirty laundry. Harry remembered his mother's roar, never a scream, demanding for them to let him go.

The man's clinical laugh made Harry snivel, drawing the red-eyed attention of the intruder. Despite himself, the boy stared up into those red eyes. He had never seen irises of that shade before.

'You must be Harry Potter,' the man said to him, lowering himself onto his haunches for a better view of Harry's face. Harry looked back, tears frozen by helpless wonderment. Even then, Harry could tell that there was something different about this man, that he viewed himself as a king and expected the world to follow. 'You're a brave little boy, aren't you?'

Harry didn't speak, not even as the man took his chin between cold fingers and tilted his head up further. 'Born as the seventh month dies to a family who has thrice defied me. I will mark you as my equal. So for that reason, I cannot let you live.'

Harry didn't understand, but he saw the knife, glinting as cruelly as the death-breather's eyes, pointing towards him. Now Harry moved, struggled, screamed, but someone held his head still as the knife came closer. The fine point slipped seamlessly into Harry's forehead, tugging at the flesh until there was a crude, red, lightning-bolt shaped scar dripping blood onto the howling child's face. The mother was shrieking now, the father bellowing and the dogs, startled into rage, flying at the intruders with teeth bared.

A gunshot fired, and Harry's favourite chocolate Labrador lay on its side, darkness pouring from the wound in its head, staining the floor, the carpet, everything. Harry could only cry so hard. He treated the first dog's death with the same tears as those for his new scar. The men of the room laughed and shot at the other dogs, bringing each down with a pitiful whine.

'Bring them over.' The leader jerked his head at Harry's parents, and they were indeed brought over, Harry's father managing to throw off his attackers twice, his mother fighting desperately with teeth and nails. But it was over soon. There were too many of them.

'The father is a bit too troublesome, I think.'

The death-breather had a gun too, and he aimed it now at Harry's father's head.

'NO!' Harry screamed, but he was quickly cut off by a gloved hand pressed to his mouth. His face red and aching, he watched in silent horror as his father was shot in the chest, the words "I love you" immortalised on his lips as he looked at his son for one last time.

'James!' was the mother's wounded cry. Her head lolled forward, shoulders trembling with the weight of her grief. 'Please. Please, you can kill me, but don't kill Harry. Not Harry, please.'

'The boy must die.'

'_Please_, not Harry. He did nothing to you. He's harmless. Spare him, spare Harry. _Please_.'

'All right, you may leave and take the boy with you.'

Harry's heart lifted. His arms were released, and he held them out to welcome his mother, who pulled him into her warm embrace. Those brilliant green eyes, the picture of his own, glistened with joy, sorrow, fear and relief before deadening suddenly as the familiar gunshot sounded once more.

'Mummy?' Harry breathed as she stuttered and gasped, slumping forward and showing the ragged mess of blood and hair on her back. 'Mummy!' The death-bringer's laugh was merciless as he shot her again, delighting in her son's horror.

And Lily Potter died in her child's arms.

There was no time for ceremony. Her body was dragged away to lie with her husband's, the first respectful gesture Harry had seen today. But that didn't last because now the death-bringer was standing before him, as tall and foreboding as Harry was weak and alone.

'Behold,' the man announced to his jeering followers, 'as the prophecy dictated, my equal. A snivelling little runt gifted, it was said, with the power that "I know not". The prophecy was wrong, was a lie. See, I have even deigned to mark him, and yet he cowers and cries. I will defy this foolish prophecy once and for all and kill him.'

He raised his gun one last time, and Harry clamped his lips shut, trying not to cry anymore. His eyes were glued to the barrel as it aimed directly at his heart, but then it faltered, paused, before being slid back into its holster.

'No, I've changed my mind. I want it to be slow. I want to see the light leave his eyes. I want to feel the life pour out of his feeble little body.' He seized the boy by his neck, lifting him off of the ground with one hand.

Harry gurgled, attempted to kick out and disable his attacker, but ultimately failed. His neck throbbed around his larynx, too compressed to release sound or take in air, so he thrashed about as if he was silently drowning, until he was too weak to move. And yet the death-bringer continued to crush. His eyes fell to one of the dogs on the floor. From this position, it looked as if it was sleeping or playing dead.

Playing dead. The four-year-old could hardly believe this stroke of inspiration, but he quickly carried it out. He let his eyes fall shut and went completely limp in the man's grip. And yet the death-bringer continued to crush, making sure that every trace of life was choked from him. Harry couldn't manage much longer. Either the man released him now or he would die.

Finally satisfied, the man dropped the boy to the ground with little delicacy. Harry lay on his back, scarcely breathing, but alive. The man was talking, addressing someone, and the boy carefully listened.

'…have a son his age, do you not?' There was a satisfied hiss to the voice that made Harry want to shudder. Luckily, he was too weak to.

'Yes, my lord.' Harry didn't expect it to be a woman's voice, low and fearful.

'Check that the boy is dead,' the man ordered dismissively.

'Yes, my lord.'

Harry's heart froze. He would still die after all. The follower would pronounce him alive, and the death-man would really kill him this time. A staccato of footsteps, a warm hand at his brow, a pair of soft, grey eyes gazing at him through a mask.

'Ssh,' the woman whispered in the most hushed tones, stroking the boy's face before touching the shallow yet defiant pulse in his neck. Harry froze, but the woman didn't stand immediately and doom him with her next words. Instead, with a heavy tone that only a parent could achieve, she said, 'He's dead, my lord.'

'Good. Now let us leave. I am finished with the Potters.'

'Can't we take the woman with us? Such a pretty corpse shouldn't be wasted.' Harry almost betrayed himself, wanting to jump up and attack, but settling for soundlessly clenching his teeth.

'Silence, Greyback! The Potters: gone from this earth, completely destroyed, that is what I want. Only then will I be truly triumphant, truly invincible.'

His followers filed out, the death-bringer the last to leave. With a chuckle, he fired one last shot. Harry flinched, but nothing hit him. The man left shortly afterwards, and Harry slowly opened his eyes. The door and the surrounding wall were on fire, and the flames were quickly spreading. Harry choked with no more tears left to cry, crawling over to the bodies of his parents.

He tried to speak to them, strangled howls never really unifying into words. He desperately pulled at them, trying to drag them from the blazing building as if they were still alive. Their dead weight made them impossible to lift and difficult to shift, and Harry managed a few inches before giving up. He looked up. The door was lost in the blaze now, its outline warping. Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to make it through.

Shuffling back, he lay between his parents' corpses, took his father's hand in his left and his mother's hand in his right, and waited for death as the fire blistered the tears off his face.

A crash exploded from behind him followed by an unfamiliar voice. 'James? Lily?'

Harry, with lungs full of smoke, struggled to get up, coughing and croaking.

''Arry! Get in 'ere, Sirius! 'Arry's in there!'

At the sound of his godfather's name, Harry faced the door. There was a giant in the frame, who, by the looks of it, had broken the door down. A smaller figure jumped through the flames, arms shielding his face, and ran the rest of the way.

'Harry!' Sirius pulled the boy into his arms. If he saw the dead Potters on the floor, he didn't say. 'Let's get you out of here.'

'But– mum–'

'Ssh, I'm keeping you safe, Harry.'

Cradled in Sirius' arms, Harry Potter passed out. He would never be so safe again.


	2. Chapter 2

A decidedly less violent chapter, hooray. Thank you to Grapes and LoveInTheBattleField for reviewing. I hope to not disappoint

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><p>'Harry? No, no, it's ok. You don't have to wake up. You're ok, you're absolutely fine.'<p>

'Pads?' Harry whispered, not sure if his vocal cords would be able to manage more than that.

'Yeah, it's me. Your old dog, Padfoot,' said the voice.

Harry chuckled faintly because he knew Sirius liked his laughter, otherwise why would he say such silly things? Harry opened his eyes. He was in a large, white, mostly featureless room with a row of empty beds lining its walls. He reluctantly breathed in the sterile smell of a hastily erected hospital.

Sirius was sitting by his bed, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles, but he was smiling. 'Glad to see you're awake, soldier. You hungry?'

'Daddy, mummy.'

Sirius' smile widened, even as his abused eyes closed and a hand pressed against them. 'Hagrid got the…the bodies. Don't worry, we didn't, couldn't, leave them there.'

Harry nodded, drawing his legs up and burrowing his face into his knees.

'Are you hungry, Prongslet?'

Harry shook his head.

'Thirsty?'

Harry shook his head again.

'Harry, look at me for a moment.'

Harry trembled in the face of the gentle tone, so like his father's, and he almost started when hot liquid poured onto his knees. Once he started crying, he couldn't stop, and Sirius held him tightly, rubbing his back and saying nothing as the boy poured out his grief.

'I'm so sorry, Harry.'

Harry nodded, hiccupping as he curled into his godfather's chest. 'What's going to happen to me now, Pads?'

'I'll look after you, Prongslet. Would you like that?'

Harry nodded fiercely against him. 'And Moony? Where's Moony?'

'Yes, and Moony. He's out, talking to important people. He'll be back in a moment.'

'Where's Wormy?'

'I…' Sirius' grip on Harry's shoulder involuntarily hardened, 'I don't know where he is. Ah, Poppy.' His tone brightened as a medic bustled over to their bed. 'Are you here to tell us that Harry can be released immediately?' he asked with his perfected roguish grin.

She pursed her lips. 'Nice try, Black.' She turned to the small boy and beamed at him. 'Hello, Harry. You've been a very brave, strong boy. You're recovering very well. You should be out in no time.'

'I'm ok?'

'Nothing unfixable. Your minor burns and the bruising around your neck will heal. The cut on your head will scar though, I'm afraid.'

Sirius smoothed Harry's fringe back with a sad smile. Harry looked up at him before his forehead. It was bound with cloth and tape.

'Harry.'

The boy let his hand fall to his side as Remus Lupin led three others into the room. 'Moony.' Harry smiled mildly at the man, who was looking a lot more haggard than Harry remembered. His drawn face loosened at the sight of him as he strode over and gathered the child into his arms.

'Harry, there are some people who would like to meet you,' Remus said, rubbing the boy's back reassuringly.

Sirius looked long at the three new arrivals, acknowledging of the first two but displeased enough with the third to stand up and snap: 'Ok, what is _he_ doing here?'

'Now, Sirius,' said the tall, silver-bearded man in the middle while the dark-curtain-haired man to his left sneered. 'Be civil.'

'You can tell that greasy git the same thing.'

'Sirius,' Remus said sternly, gripping Harry's shoulders meaningfully.

'This…unfortunate situation concerns Severus as much as it concerns you yourself,' was the next thing the man said.

'James and Lily were my best friends. I'm the godfather of their child.' Sirius scowled, ruffling Harry's hair furiously until it stood independently.

'Indeed, my dear boy,' the man nodded, 'but I must say that the untimely death of the Potters affects us all.'

'Harry, this is Albus Dumbledore,' Remus explained, 'Head of the Order of the Phoenix.'

The boy nodded, hoping that the more knowledgeable adults in the room would think that he understood.

Remus pointed to the man on Dumbledore's right, a giant man of astonishing broadness with copious amounts of straggling hair. Harry was baffled that he had missed the man's presence in the room until now. 'That's Rubeus Hagrid. He helped Sirius get you out of the house.'

'All righ', 'Arry?' the giant asked with an air of modesty and warm-heartedness that counteracted his size.

'All right,' Harry sniffled in response, a smile peeking tentatively out from behind his balled fist.

'And that's Severus Snape.'

If Rubeus Hagrid projected friendliness, Severus Snape was the exact opposite. He nodded curtly, fixing the boy with such thinly-veiled hatred that even the young child could recognise it. But Harry could also see the red around his eyes, pronounced by the paleness of his skin. The man had been crying just as much as Harry had. From beside Harry, Sirius growled.

'Now if you wouldn't mind, Harry, I would like to ask some questions. Is that all right?' Dumbledore asked with a kind twinkle in his blue eyes. Harry watched him uncertainly, physically retreating into the protection of people he knew. Dumbledore nodded wisely, 'I will not harm you, Harry. I am firmly on your side. Your parents were two of my dearest friends.'

'He's right, Harry,' Remus said with a squeeze of the boy's shoulder.

Harry leaned into the touch even as he looked to Sirius. 'Siri?'

'It's ok, Harry.' Sirius smiled.

Only then did the boy nod. 'Ok, Mr Dumby…Dumble…Dumbledore.'

The old man simply chuckled as he went to sit on a bed opposite to Harry, who still watched him with jaded eyes.

'Now Harry, I suppose the question that it necessary to be asked is how you survived this unfortunate event while your parents perished.'

Harry didn't quite understand the word "perish" yet, but the suggestion of it made his eyes water slightly. 'Um,' with another glance at Sirius, he said, 'I played dead.'

'You mean, like a dog, Harry?' Sirius asked. Despite the situation, there was a gleam of delight in his steely eyes.

'And how did that save you and not Lily?' Severus Snape asked brusquely enough to make Harry jump.

'Now, Severus,' Dumbledore managed to say before being overrun by Sirius.

'What are you trying to say, Snape? Are you trying to say that it's Harry's fault?'

'Sirius!' Remus snapped.

'He didn't shoot me,' Harry said, into the brief moment of silence that followed. 'He shot them, and the dogs, but he didn't shoot me. He tried to strangle me, so I played dead. Like the dogs.' His breath hitched, and he strove to stem the new surge of tears.

'Clever boy,' Remus muttered.

'Any other questions, Snape?' Sirius barked, holding Harry's shoulder.

'Sirius,' Remus sighed with justified impatience.

'What?'

'This is about Harry, not you reliving your petty school rivalries.'

'Damn right it's about Harry. And if _Snivellus_ over there wants to ask Harry any more tactless questions then he answers to me.'

'Yes, I believe that Severus has caught your meaning,' Dumbledore said mildly, gaze not once flitting to Snape's rigid face. 'Now, Harry, I suppose the next most important matter to address is what is to become of you.'

'Siri will look after me,' Harry said immediately. 'He promised. And Moony could too if he wanted.'

'Yes, Harry, I have no doubt about that. What I would like to talk to you about is your future. You are a very special boy, Harry.'

Remus' arms curled tighter around Harry. 'Is this about the…?'

'Not quite yet, dear boy. He will learn of it eventually, but now is not the time. What I would like to ask for, with deference to your positions as Harry new guardians, is key personal input into Harry's upbringing and education. I want to protect you,' he added to Harry, 'and the best way to protect you is to teach you to protect yourself.'

'True,' Sirius murmured reluctantly, coinciding with Remus's 'Of course!' Frowning slightly at Remus, Sirius continued alone: 'But what sort of education are you planning?'

'One that covers all of the bases. That man, Harry, is very dangerous.'

Harry nodded violently. 'He kills people. He brings death.'

'His name is Voldemort–'

Hagrid, the giant, unnoticeable man, screamed as if to remind the room that he was still there. Beneath the multiple stares, he tried to make himself small again, face beetroot red. 'Sorry, sorry Mr Dumbledore. I…it's just that name…sorry…I'll…I'll go. Bye Sirius, Remus, 'Arry.'

'Bye, Mr Hagrid.' Harry waved as the man retreated before looking to Dumbledore expectantly.

'Well, ah, Poppy, you brought it. Thank you, dear woman, thank you.'

'What's that?' Harry asked of the odd contraption that was wheeled between Harry's and Dumbledore's beds.

It was partly a bowl and beside this bowl was a jug of the conductive chemical solution that seemed to run through everything these days. Machines, houses, transport…guns. This one, Harry was glad to see, was pearly white instead of the poisonous green that took his parents. The bowl was linked up to a box fitted with oddly-shaped dials and a dark screen.

'This is a Pensieve, Harry.'

'A what?'

'It allows access to your memories,' Remus said.

'If you were to give them willingly, essentially yes.'

'Umm.'

'If we take the memory of your attack, we can view it and understand what happened without you having to relive it again and again. Doesn't that sound better, Harry?'

'Does it hurt?' Harry asked softly.

'Not a lot,' Sirius said and his word was now God since Harry's father died. 'It puts you to sleep. You can hardly feel it.'

'Ok, I'll do it.'

'Good boy.'

'Mr Dum-ble-dore?' Harry muttered as Poppy bustled forward to pour some of the white chemical into the bowl.

'Yes, Harry.' Dumbledore smiled benignly from behind crescent-moon glasses.

'Um, what's the Order of the Phoenix?'

'A question for another time, I'm afraid, dear boy. Just relax for now. You must be as calm and as still as possible for this.'

'Ok.'

Poppy inserted two transparent tubes into the chemical solution, fastening it to the inside of the bowl by means of something that Harry couldn't clearly see. The loose ends of these tubes were brought up to either side of his face.

'Now, this is the worst part, Harry, but it'll be over soon. It's just a little sting.'

Harry found Sirius's hand and squeezed. The leftmost tube touched the skin above Harry's temple and something pierced his skin. But Harry hardly flinched. Compared to the still throbbing scar on his forehead, it was just a little pinprick.

'Good boy, and now the other one.'

Harry was more prepared for this and the tube connected neatly with his head.

'There's a brave boy.'

'Sirius,' Dumbledore said, voice weighted with implication, 'this may take a while.' When Sirius didn't reply, Dumbledore tried again. 'Sirius, James and Lily have been put to rest in the second hall.'

Again there was no answer. 'I thought that you would like to pay your respects and, well, say goodbye in peace.'

'I'm staying with Harry.'

Remus adopted Dumbledore's train of conversation. 'Since we arrived there, you haven't left Harry's side. No-one's in any doubt that you're the most caring, dedicated godfather James and Lily could have chosen. But you've hardly given yourself time to grieve. You need to see them for one last time. You need to say goodbye.'

'But–'

'I will watch over him while you are gone,' Dumbledore said. 'You have my word.'

'I–'

'Siri,' Harry said, 'go and see mummy and daddy, please.'

Sirius sighed, looking older than Harry had ever seen him, before youth dressed his face with a smile. 'Ok…ok, Harry.'

Remus took his arm and they both stood, supporting each other as they left.

'Siri!' Harry called out after him, and Sirius turned. 'Moony's right, you're the best godfather _ever _in the whole wide universe.'

Sirius barked with laughter, wiping furiously at his eyes. 'Love you, Prongslet.'

'I love you too, Padfoot. Love you, Moony.'

Remus's lips quirked. 'Love you, Harry.'

Harry swore he saw Snape roll his eyes in their direction as they left, but then he couldn't be sure after all. The world was becoming too hard to make out and the memories were resurfacing, expanding, replacing reality. It was odd, seeing images of his house overlapping the hospital, where Dumbledore and Snape stood guard and Poppy retreated from sight.

Dumbledore sighed as soon as she was gone. 'This boy has lost so much, so quickly, has suffered so, and yet we lay such a perilous path for him.'

'At least he lives.' Snape's voice was both sharp and flat.

'Do not tell me, Severus, that you blame the boy for Lily's death.'

'_He_ came to the house to kill the boy, not her. And look who escaped, the child he was after. The son who is nothing like his mother, only his father.'

'Now, you know that that isn't true. The boy is a perfect blend of both parents, just as we have hoped.'

'You really think you can train him to fulfil this "prophecy"?'

'I believe so.'

'So you're still putting your faith so blindly in it.'

'I wouldn't say blindly, Severus.'

'But you still believe in this Seer business? I was also there when it was made, it sounded more like the ramblings of a madwoman than anything close to the truth.'

'Voldemort,' Dumbledore said, ignoring Snape's protesting hiss, 'in believing the prophecy and acting upon it, made this the truth. If he hadn't killed Harry's parents that night, hadn't marked the boy as his equal, we wouldn't be here now, planning to turn this child into the most invincible soldier and leader that history has ever seen. Actions, prophecies are always about actions, and Voldemort has acted. Now we must react.'

Snape didn't reply for a while, and Harry was still in his dreamy state of semi-consciousness. All word from the outside world and the memories within his head seemed to wash over as the white chemical circulated through the Pensieve tubes.

'I know why you are so determined to believe that the prophecy isn't real,' Dumbledore said sternly. 'And I know why you are so quick to blame the boy. Because that is more forgiving to your soul than to blame yourself.'

'I–'

'But it is heartening that you still have a soul to save.'

'If…if I hadn't told him about the prophecy.'

'Then he would have discovered it another way, Severus.'

'…Perhaps.'

The last thing Harry saw before he fell asleep was that pair of grey eyes, beautiful in their compassion and mercy. The eyes of his secret saviour.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>From now on, this story will probably be uploaded on a weekly basis.


	3. Chapter 3

**Inconsistent Disclaimer: ** Nope, still don't own it.

**Warnings:** Angry!Sirius equals M-rated language.

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><p>Harry didn't know how many people there were in the world until he attended his parents' funeral. Concealed supposedly safely in his family's cottage, Harry was more accustomed to small groups of people. Just his parents and their closest friends. And yet so many surged forwards upon seeing him, claiming to know him, to have known them, and to impress their grief upon him. Even worse were the journalists, who didn't squander precious words on sympathy and attacked him with questions about moments he hated to remember. Harry quickly took to hiding behind whatever was closest to hand: a tree, a wall, a table, Sirius.<p>

What struck him most was the sheer amount of children. He was sure that he had never seen another child in his entire lifetime. Only here, now that his parents had gone and he had been forced to grow up, did they come out to play, and they looked at him with the same fascination that he felt for them. He supposed that most of them recognised him as the orphaned child not, as he would find out later, as the child who escaped Voldemort and was the one destined to kill him.

None of them approached him, and Harry forced himself not to mind, quelling the childlike need for adoration and companionship. It didn't work, and he was found hiding behind the buffet table, stuffing himself with treacle tart and choking down his sobs, by a family that he didn't know. That wasn't saying much; he hardly knew any of the families here, but he felt as if he should know this one. Looking at them was like staring into his past. There was a boy of about Harry's age between the two parents, dark-haired and definitely well-cared for. The adults had faces that Harry recognised from photographs taken during his parents' school years. Harry had never had a name to put to them.

'Harry,' the woman said while her son peeked out from behind her skirts, 'I'm so sorry,' she said. 'I'm so, so sorry.'

It was with reluctance that Harry looked up at her, expecting to see that same parody of sorrow on her face. But it was with relief that he saw her sadness, real and potent, and traces of something else. The sort of expression that Sirius wore when he turned up late to dinner but amplified a hundred times over. Guilt, Harry thought.

But his four year old mind dismissed it as unimportant and promptly forgot it. The woman knelt before him and hugged him tightly as if Harry was her child, and he snuggled close, pretending that the caressing hands were Lily's.

She pulled away too soon, and the sight of the stranger's face was almost too much for him to bear. He turned away, back to his abandoned treacle tart on the ground. The firm pressure on his shoulder made Harry look up with a start. The man was gripping his shoulder a bit too tightly.

'Good luck, Harry,' he said before letting go and guiding his wife and son away. The little boy looked back at Harry with wide eyes, and Harry returned the stare, envious and confused and slightly sadder than before.

'There you are, Harry.'

Sirius just missed them, they might as well have been figments of Harry's imagination, for all Harry knew. A projection of his wishes that evaporated in the dusty air.

...

Dumbledore sighed and folded the paper shut, the only human sound amongst the reliable ticking of his clocks and the occasional squawk from his pet bird. The Potters' funeral was splashed across the front cover with stolen pictures of Harry decorating the semi-serious text. Shaking his head, Dumbledore formed a steeple with his fingers and looked thoughtfully over them. The Daily Prophet: that confounded newspaper. Its headliner was practically an invitation to Lord Voldemort. The only reason Harry was alive now was because the Dark Lord Voldemort had believed the boy dead. Now, with the boy so publicly presented, who knew how long it would be before the Dark Lord was tracking Harry down, this time leaving no margin for error?

He would have to get the Order involved, have a rotating watch on Harry, no less than two operatives at a time and–

The doors to his office slammed open, and Sirius Black barrelled into the centre, momentarily distracted by the majestic, orange bird that sat on the perch by Dumbledore's desk, before he found the focus of his anger.

'What the hell is this, Dumbledore? I thought you were going to pay those journalists off!' Sirius slammed a paper, the perfect replica of Dumbledore's, down on his desk, causing Dumbledore's bird to flap its wings in a steadying motion. 'This isn't even about the funeral. It's about Harry. Look, he's all over it. They're already calling him the "Chosen One".'

Dumbledore smiled serenely. 'Yes, I have also read the article, Sirius. Please, be calm–'

'Calm? I will not be _fucking _calm. How can I be? They're calling him the Chosen One. Are they _trying_ to provoke You-Know-Who? Usually I wouldn't care, the Prophet can mock him all they want, but putting Harry's face on that shit? Why did you even let them into the blasted funeral?'

'Sirius, you know that it wasn't my place to bar anyone who wished to pay their respects from attending.'

'They weren't there to pay their respects. They were there looking for stuff to keep them in print. And now they're all talking about Harry like he's some kind of messiah or something. All because of that damn prophecy.'

'Finished, Sirius?'

After a long, drawn-out exhale, Sirius nodded.

'All right. Firstly, I'm afraid the Daily Prophet incident was inescapable. The public have been waiting for an end to this war for a while and now, Harry gives them that chance. I'm afraid he's going to be seeing a lot of the press. The most he can do is learn how to use publicity to his advantage.

'Secondly, I am not planning to leave Harry at all defenceless. This building is well fortified, and I am planning to utilise soldiers from my Order of the Phoenix to personally protect him. Of course, you, Remus, myself and Severus will be permanent fixtures.'

'Severus? Severus Snape?'

'I also want to ensure that Harry is perfectly capable of protecting himself. He will be educated in physical combat and weaponry as well as military tactics, problem solving, arguing persuasively, public speaking, battle history, perhaps some languages would be useful as well, to make alliances with other Earth Settlements that do not have English as their official language. I want to send him into the battle with the best chance he has.'

'I don't want to send him in at all.'

'Me neither, Sirius, me neither, but that isn't our choice. It wasn't Seer Trelawney's choice. It wasn't even Fate's choice. Voldemort brought Harry Potter on himself the moment he carved that lightning bolt into the boy's forehead.'

...

Harry's scar was now uncovered, but the skin around it was still angry. He hated looking at it, but Pomfrey insisted on keeping his fringe away from it until it was properly healed.

He sat in Dumbledore's office, his legs swinging several inches above the ground, and tried not to scratch at it. It itched so badly; he really hated it. Harry tried to divert himself by looking at the odd contraptions on Dumbledore's desk. Little mechanical wonders that pivoted, swung or piped steam, some glowing with the jewel-like veins of chemicals. The portrait-lined walls were also of interest to Harry. Although he didn't know who any of them were, he liked searching for the portrayal with the largest nose or funniest pose. There was one man who had been painted holding an ear-trumpet, which (Harry thought) made him look as if he was trying to smoke a pipe with his ear.

Eventually, Harry tired of this and stared ahead, wondering where Dumbledore could be. A caw had him starting violently and turning to kneel up on his seat, peeking around its broad back. A radiant, vermillion bird sailed through the open window and alighted on the carved perch that sat by the desk. So the bird belonged here then. Harry watched it with reverence as it shook out its fiery wings and fixed Harry with a dark, intelligent stare.

'His name,' and Harry jumped again, 'is Fawkes.' Dumbledore entered the room and sat at the desk, opposite Harry.

'He's very…' Harry searched for a word magnificent enough to honour the bird, but he came up short.

Dumbledore chuckled kindly. 'Yes, Harry, I know exactly what you mean.'

Harry nodded. 'What is he?'

'He's a phoenix.'

'Phoenixes are stories,' Harry said, 'for bedtimes.'

'Aah, quite. Phoenixes were indeed a myth before this extraordinary species of bird was discovered. They cannot regenerate.'

'Regenerate?'

'Ah, to be born again. While they cannot be reborn from their ashes, as the legends say, their flaming feathers led the man who discovered them to name them after the legend.'

Harry's mouth formed an "O" of understanding, and Dumbledore smiled again. Lily's thirst for knowledge was there somewhere in Harry's nature.

'Now, Harry. What I'm about to tell you is very important.'

'Ok.'

'It's about Voldemort.'

'The man who killed them.'

'Yes. He is a very dangerous man, Harry, and I'm afraid that he wants to try and finish what he began.'

'He wants…me to die?'

'Yes, I'm afraid.'

'But why?'

Dumbledore looked into those miserable, green eyes and sighed very deeply. This was the first situation in a while that he was not sure how to handle. He would have to tread very carefully. 'Alas, Harry, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day…put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are older, ready, you will know. Now, the more sensible thing to focus on is keeping you alive, wouldn't you agree, Harry?'

The little boy nodded fervently, easily sidetracked.

'Good. You will be living here from now on, in Hogwarts Castle.'

Harry snorted slightly at the name as James would have done before covering his mouth and apologising as Lily had taught him.

'You will be taught everything you need so that you become just as strong and smart and powerful as Lord Voldemort. Sirius and Remus have already agreed to live here too,' he said, knowing that this would cheer Harry up. The child brightened immediately, gifting the room with a dazzling smile. 'Is that agreeable with you, Harry?'

'I agree,' he said after breaking the word down into recognisable parts. 'I agree, Mr Dum-ble-dore.'

And that was Harry's beginning.

* * *

><p><strong>Jaysnow-Silverblaze <strong>and **LoveInTheBattleField**: Thank you! I'm glad that you liked it!

**Grapes:** Thank you. :) Let's just say that I'm attempting to keep everyone as in character as this alternate universe setting can afford. For me, that would mean a manipulative yet well-meaning!Dumbledore.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** Sorry for the delay. You can thank a recalcitrant macbook, a chapter in dire need of some sort of plot interest and, well, me being lazy. This chapter started out as a massive info-dump. I'm not really sure what it is now.

For the disclaimer, you can refer to the first chapter if you feel the desperate need to.

* * *

><p>Hogwarts Castle was too vast for one small child. It may have been Harry's Wonderland, but it was also Harry's prison. While there was no end to the assortment of rooms that Harry could explore, he wasn't allowed beyond the castle grounds. His only playmate was Sirius, who, as childlike as he could be, was more of a father-figure than the peer the lonely boy needed.<p>

The sheer quantity of adults in his life allowed for very little playtime. Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix doubled as his guard and his teachers, dedicated to ensuring his survival. Remus, Harry was surprised to find, was skilled in hand-to-hand combat while Sirius, with a sabre in hand, was a duelling master. And while Harry quickly took to their style of teaching, there were also teachers like Alastor Moody, the eye-patch-wearing amputee with a temperament to match his staunch, craggy face.

Their first lesson hadn't been one to easily forget. Harry had been directed to a seemingly empty room, one he was sure had been a large study at some point but since then had been cleared and scrubbed and stripped back to its basic, cavernous capacity. While Harry looked to his left, trying to remember how that particular side of the room looked before, something flew at him from his right. It hit his neck with stinging force, and Harry lost his footing, collapsing against the wall with a yelp.

Slowly, Harry looked from the little orange pellet rolling around his shoes to the area from which it had been fired. Standing there, with a menacing black rifle in his hands, was the most frightening man the four year old had ever laid eyes upon. And he looked furious.

'Dead,' he barked. 'If I had been one of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, you'd be off to meet your parents before you even realised why.'

Harry's face crumpled at the mention of his parents, but this man showed no remorse.

'Never enter a room without recceing it first. It isn't safe until you've noted every entrance, every exit, every person, object or hiding place. With your evident lack of brains, after you've done all that, it still probably wouldn't be safe. The threat of the Dark Lord is real. You know full well that he doesn't care that you're a wee brat that doesn't even clear his navel. He'll kill you all the same if you walk into his sight gaping at the scenery.

'Now, Dumbledore sent me to you because a dead man can't kill the Dark Lord. I've obviously got a lot of work to do, starting with basics of staying bloody well alive. So what now, Potter? Your enemy has been so kind to let you know he's in the room. What's your next move?'

Throughout this blinding, flabbergasting tirade, Harry had remained pasted to the wall behind him, his gaze drawn to the gun in the stranger's hands. It looked nothing like Voldemort's gun, but still he heard the man's icy laugh, his mother's cries, smelt the fire, the blood. The combative stranger didn't hesitate. Hoisting his gun, he shot Harry with another hard pellet, catching him in the chest. 'Ow!' he protested.

'Dead again, Potter.'

'B-but I know you're here now,' Harry muttered quaveringly. 'It's not a surprise anymore.'

'Indeed, but you're no less dead. What's the use of knowing the enemy's in the room if you're too slow to avoid them?'

Harry hadn't an answer to this.

'Dumbledore tells me that you've started combat training and sabre-play already. How are you getting along with those?'

'They're hard,' Harry admitted.

The man nodded. 'Do you get tired quickly, easily?'

It was Harry's turn to nod.

'Well, they clearly went about this all wrong. It's not best to learn any sort of martial activities until…' Moody had looked at Harry more closely then, as if he only noticed just how small his new student really was. 'You can't fight well without having a solid, er, base of fitness, of strength and agility.'

Harry was so intent on listening to his words that he only registered the man aiming his gun when it was too late to dodge completely. The bullet caught him in the side midway between his hasty lurch to the left, and he doubled over, too scared to even sniffle.

'Always be aware. Never keep your attention focused on one place. Let that be the one thing that lodges in that soft head of yours. Constant vigilance.'

'Constant vigilance,' Harry murmured in reply, though he had no idea what that meant.

The man stalked towards him, causing the boy to scamper to his feet and back away, eyes trained warily on the barrel of Moody's gun.

'That's better. There's only one time when it's smart to be near an armed enemy, and that's when you have your own weapon, which you bleeding well don't. Distance won't save you, but it's better than letting the enemy too near.'

He shot, and Harry heard the satisfying smack of the pellet meeting the wall he had recently been standing in front of. His brief moment of celebration was injurious; Moody caught him in the calf before he had time to refocus on the task.

'Keep moving. Standing still is like painting a massive target on your forehead: too tempting by a half. I'll sort you out, don't you worry. Under my guidance, you'll be running miles without stopping, light as an acrobat, quick as the very bullets you'll be trying to avoid. And vigilant, always, always vigilant.'

He hobbled forward, stepping heavily on the metal, mechanical wonder that was his prosthetic leg. Harry tried to break away, but the man dropped his gun and seized Harry's shoulder. 'After all, you don't want to end up like old Mad-Eye, do you?'

Moody flipped up his eyepatch, and Harry's scream half-escaped him in a strangled squeak. He hadn't known what to expect, a gaping socket, a flat terrain of skin marred by a clean scar, maybe even a small, dark eye to match the one that stared at him so intensely. Instead, there was a synthetic eye, a bulbous, unwieldy thing that spun madly in its socket, as if its electric blue mass was chartering every detail of their surroundings.

Moody waited a while, until the boy had calmed down somewhat, before somehow managing to release the boy's arm as roughly as he had grabbed it.

'Outside,' he snapped.

Harry nodded to Moody's shoes. Dissatisfied, the man forced his chin up. 'Yes, sir.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry repeated, managing to meet his gaze for a full two seconds before glancing down again.

For the rest of the afternoon, Moody had Harry doing stretches and running the length of the largest field that the Hogwarts grounds could offer. But Harry remembered the night even more. It was the first time in too long a while that he, albeit aching and covered in bruises, sank easily into a deep, dreamless sleep.

…

The next couple of years were the hardest. Harry was suddenly expected to learn and give so much so often. But as the various disciplines became more familiar to him, he stopped enduring his lessons and started excelling. And with the gradual introduction of weight-training, acrobatics, knife-work and marksmanship, Harry began to evolve into a boy whose deadliness belied his size.

But he had to be smart. He was thoroughly educated in the history of his planetary system, from the mass exodus of humans from Earth to the discovery of crystal mines and chemicals as a power source to various wars and their great military heroes. In this, Harry found it more of a struggle to concentrate, his mind roaming when conflict and murders were discussed, but his tutors were patient, understanding that he would grow to appreciate what they were trying to teach them. When he was mentally capable, they would move him onto battle strategies, educate him in commanding multiple legions and squads, and also motivating his followers with powerful rhetoric. If he happened to inherit any of his father's charisma, they would make full use of it.

Hagrid taught him how to survive in the wild in the Hogwarts grounds' forest, although he seemed more concerned with capturing the dangerous animals that it was best to avoid, Pomona Sprout added to this knowledge with plant identification and usage, and Madame (Poppy) Pomfrey helped him with the basics of healing and first aid. Molly Weasley, a motherly woman with flyaway red hair, insisted upon teaching him how to cook as soon as he could reach the kitchen counter. Harry saw these lessons as a reprieve from his otherwise strenuous schedule and particularly liked baking; kneading the dough was very therapeutic.

There was another reason he looked forward to Molly Weasley's visit, and it came in the form her boisterous son. Ron Weasley was thin and freckly with vibrant red hair, but most importantly, he was the first boy Harry had ever spoken to. Not that the conversation was anything spectacular, Ron was in all senses a real six year old boy, but Harry vowed to embrace any words that came out of his mouth.

'So you've lived here for two years?' Ron asked incredulously, sneaking a cookie from the cooling rack. 'By yourself?'

'Not by myself. I had Sirius and Remus and Mr Dumbledore and lots of tutors like your mother.'

'My "mother"?' Ron asked, amused, before taking a bite of Harry's latest bake. 'Mmm, stellar grosh! Nice one.'

'Thank you,' Harry said politely. He didn't know what else to say, what other children liked to talk about. Luckily for him, Ron was full of questions.

'So, what's it like being "the Chosen One?"'

'The Chosen what?'

'The Chosen One, that's what everyone calls you, you know. Because you're going to fight You-Know-Who, aren't you?'

'Oh yeah, that.'

'How're you going to do it?'

'I have no idea, Ron,' Harry said, slightly impatiently.

Ron nodded, absently, finished his cookie and grabbed another one. He looked out of the window, over the grounds. From their vantage point, they could see the giant pit in the earth where Sirius and Harry went flying.

'That place would be perfect for Quidditch,' Ron said.

Slightly startled by the sudden change of topic, Harry quickly followed. 'Yeah, it would. Me and Sirius never have enough players for a proper game though.'

Ron looked appalled. 'That's horrible. You've never played team Quidditch?'

'Have you?'

'Mate, I've got five brothers… and a sister. And I guess she's good for her age. Better than Percy anyway.'

'_Five_ brothers?'

'And a sister, yeah.'

Harry tried to imagine such a number, a gaggle of children with dark, messy hair and sharp, angular faces. He couldn't. 'What's it like?' he breathed, 'having such a big family?'

Ron thought about it for a bit. 'Loud…and crampy.'

Harry grinned at the thought, so different from Hogwarts Castle which was so quiet and spacious that he felt it would swallow him up. 'Sounds brilliant.'

Ron frowned at him before matching his smile. 'Well, you can have them if you like. I'd trade with you any day. You've got so much _room_ here.'

Harry laughed and Ron joined in, looking pleased, but beneath it all, Harry couldn't help thinking. _He wouldn't wish his family away if he knew what it was like. If we traded, I'd be the one better off not him._

Molly Weasley chose that moment to re-enter, taking one look at Ron cramming his face with biscuits and tutted. 'Ronald Bilius Weasley! You were meant to leave them to cool. You should have waited with Harry before eating _his_ biscuits.'

'It's quite all right, Mrs Weasley.' Harry smiled.

'How many times, Harry dear? Call me Molly.'

'Yes, Molly,' Harry said.

Ron took this opportunity to try and pinch another cookie, but Molly's instincts were perfectly honed for this type of deception. She dove forward and slapped his hand away.

'_Ow_, mummy!' Ron wailed.

Harry laughed again. _It's not his fault_, Harry reprimanded himself._ It's not like he knows the difference. He didn't know what he meant. If he did, he wouldn't have said it._ And he pushed the incident away and enjoyed the time spent with someone who didn't care who he was or know what he meant.

…

When Harry was older and more equipped to deal with Snape (in other words, when Dumbledore had finally managed to persuade Sirius' opposition away) Harry learnt the "subtle" art of chemicals. The lessons were, to say the least, unpleasant for both of them and took place in the cheerless dungeons of the castle. In the dark and dingy place, Snape thrived.

'The mixing of chemicals to create potent solutions is a fine and delicate art, one that not just anyone can grasp. With the correct formulas, it can do more than simply power our technology and weaponry. It can rule a man. It can manipulate his body, mould his mind, rob him of his thoughts and memories. It can sustain life and, just as easily, engineer death. Tell me,' the master chemist said, 'how this is possible.'

Snape's pale skin looked especially sickly in the yellow light of the chemical lamps. The sight of him was discouraging enough, let alone the fact that Harry had no idea what the answer was.

'I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know,' Harry murmured. 'I guess that's why you're here teaching me,' he ventured, after the man had remained silent for an uncomfortable length of time.

Snape's black, bottomless narrowed with disdain, and suddenly, Harry was missing even Mad-Eye's tutelage. 'Well, as you are clearly unequal to the task, you can tell me what you do know, if anything. What is a chemicals' base form for example?'

Harry knew the answer and eagerly seized upon it. 'Crystals. We mine them from the earth.'

The answer was correct, but Snape sneered all the same. Young Harry was confused. It didn't matter if he was wrong or right; his new teacher seemed displeased either way.

'After the exodus from our dying Earth was completed, every habitable planet in this solar system populated, every strip of land divided between nations that barely knew who they were once their borders were removed, scientists began to notice strange qualities unique to the nature of their new home. ES-5, and indeed all the other Earth Settlements, were chosen for their climates and atmospheres, so similar to Earth. Even plant and wildlife had evolved comparably here, producing organisms that are believed to be not-so-distant cousins to those that once lived on the old Earth.'

Harry turned each difficult word over in his mind, trying desperately hard to remember definitions, to piece them together with their surrounding phrases into something that made sense. Snape showed no signs of relenting, of catering to his nine-year-old intellect.

'So when this new crystal was discovered, it created a large uproar in the field. It was a substance unlike anything we'd ever seen. In some cases it behaved as metals do. Extremely conductive, they somehow had a natural photovoltaic effect. Ah, the ability to convert light in to electrical energy,' Snape explained in a tone that suggested it pained him to do so. 'It melted at an unusually low temperature, allowing us, of course, to create these chemical solutions. And of course there were the unusual effects they could have on the human body. There were so many varieties, each with markedly different properties. When they examined these crystals, the molecular structure was again unique to anything ever seen, and the atoms themselves…they belonged to an element that had never before been discovered. It had no place on Mendeleev's Periodic Table. This one crystal threw into question decades, centuries of scientific study. They named the element that these crystals were formed from Novellium. Nothing else would have been fitting.'

Is this what Snape looked when he was passionate about something? A spark danced in his irises where there was usually nothing but an empty abyss, and Harry found that more unsettling than his hate-filled glares. Still, he smiled tentatively, trying to latch onto his enthusiasm in some way.

But when Snape saw the smile, he froze, like a child caught playing with a toy they'd supposedly outgrown, and retreated behind his familiar mask of aloof disregard.

'Why are you not writing this down? Do not expect me to repeat this.'

Harry fumbled for his solar tablet and transcribed the fragments of what he remembered with frantic twitches of his fingers. Snape watched him in silence, never once extending a helping hand.

'Sir,' Harry whispered eventually.

'What is it, Potter?'

'I can't really remember a lot of what you said. And I don't think I understood all of it either. And I don't really know how to spell photo…photo-vol…'

Snape sighed. 'You come to me, slow and ignorant. What exactly are they expecting me to make of you?'

Harry's cheeks smarted at these casual insults, bandied about as if there were so many others waiting to follow. 'I think they want you to make me better, to teach me. If I…if I knew everything you were trying to tell me already, then you wouldn't be able to do that. So could you teach me a bit more slowly sir? Because the way you're doing it now makes me feel like you don't really want me to learn, and that you just want to remind me of all the things I haven't learnt yet instead.'

Snape stood abruptly, and Harry gripped the table top, grappling with his now natural instincts to move, to flee, to fight…

…

'Insolent, arrogant boy. He is just like his father. No patience, no intelligence, and yet he acts as if he owns the earth,' Snape raged, prowling Dumbledore's office with the man himself as his counsel. 'I don't know why you insist on my teaching him. He doesn't take this seriously. He doesn't want to learn. All he wants to do is…' Snape gestured towards the window where Harry could be seen, flying about with Sirius in the gaping hole in the earth, 'is _fool_ about with his insufferable godfather. He is his father all over again.'

Dumbledore got up to join Snape by the window. 'You seem to be forgetting, Severus, that Harry is a nine year old boy. Let him have his fun now, who knows how much he'll get of that in the future.'

There was a silence in which they watched Harry soar. He had come to master the Nimbus hoverboard that allowed him to swoop and dive and tumble through the air.

'You know, Severus. Sirius was in here not so long ago, complaining of the opposite. That Harry was not having _enough _fun, that he was taking his training too seriously and not being the child that he should be.'

'What does Black know?' Snape scoffed.

'A lot more about Harry than you do. After all, he cares about the boy, you have hardly taken the time to know him. If you did, I'm sure that you would not say such derogatory things about him. He's a good child, a talented child. Bright, warm-hearted and modest.'

'I have no desire to know about James Potter's ilk.'

'He's Lily's child as well.'

'He's _their _child. The Potters', not mine. Nothing to do with me.'

'You cannot still be angry about Lily's choice.'

'And what if I am? It makes no difference now. She's gone and never coming back, and all she's left is that little boy, James Potter incarnate,' Snape spat, already leaving.

'You are so intent on seeing one side to Harry,' Dumbledore called after him. 'But if you would only look closer. Lily is there too. Pieces of the Lily that you loved.' The door slammed, and Dumbledore could only hope that those last words had made it through in time.


	5. Chapter 5

'Come on, Harry, _please_.'

'Sirius, I have to study,' Harry said firmly.

'You've been studying for _hours_.'

'It's important.'

'If you read too much, you'll ruin your eyes, like your old dad did.'

'They'll manage.'

'What happened to the Harry I used to know? The one who never said no to flying, or playing pranks, or–?'

'He's dead, Sirius,' Harry said, trying to hide his hurt. Was Sirius truly longing for the past version of Harry, for a person different to him in all but name? 'Voldemort's coming for him, and he won't survive. Dumbledore says I have to stop him. _Me_. Not that Harry. That Harry's dead meat.'

Sirius nodded, stunned, before aiming a shamed glance at the floor. 'Right, of course, yes.'

'Siri…' Harry ventured, 'do you…do you still love me?'

'Of course,' Sirius said immediately. 'Of course I do. How could you even…? Come here, you.'

Harry allowed himself a giggle as Sirius dove for him, drawing him into a smothering hug.

'No matter how big you grow, how old you get, you'll always be Harry, my godson, my little Prongslet, ok?'

'Ok,' Harry grinned into his godfather's chest, clinging to him in a brief moment of dependence. 'I love you, Siri.'

At this, Sirius broke. 'Harry, you don't have to do this, you know. You don't have to go through this, kill Voldemort. We could run, you and me. We could go to ES-8 or ES-9, where they wouldn't find us.'

Harry pushed away. 'You want to run?'

'I hate this. I hate what they're doing to you. You're a kid, Harry, no matter how brave or strong or smart you are, you're a kid. And they've forgotten that, even you've forgotten that. But you're nine, Harry, nine. You shouldn't have to worry about fighting a monster.'

'I have to, Dumbledore said–'

'Dumbledore says a lot of things,' Sirius said, uncharacteristically cold, 'but how many of them are true? How much do you actually know about this situation?'

'That Voldemort killed my parents, and he wants to kill me too. He's not going to stop until I face him so why not train? In the end, I'm going to have to fight him, so I have to win. It's like…only one of us can come out of this alive, so I should make it me.'

Sirius sighed sharply. 'That bloody…he didn't tell you _anything_. Harry, you don't know the half of it. About the prophecy.'

'A prophecy?'

'And your parents and–'

'Sirius,' Harry said urgently, 'Sirius, tell me. What about my parents? And the prophecy?'

'Listen, everyone believes that you're the one destined to kill Voldemort because of a prophecy made–'

The sound of doors opening cut Sirius off, and the man actually flinched away. Remus was rushing in, looking jittery, eyes flicking between the two. 'All right, you two?' he asked, aiming for casualness. He would have succeeded if the two he was trying to fool weren't learned in the subtleties of body language.

'Yes, Moony,' Harry said with an easy innocence.

'We were just talking about Quidditch.' Sirius grinned.

Remus rolled his eyes as if he actually believed him. 'Again? Really, are you actually capable of talking about anything else?'

Harry, Sirius and Remus descended into their usual playful banter only this time something was off, and they could all sense it. Harry had come to conclusion that Remus had overheard their conversation. _That's right. Sirius offered to run away, just me and him. Not Remus. Maybe that's why._

'Actually, I came in because Dumbledore wants to see you,' Remus informed Sirius.

'Right.' Sirius nodded, gaze lingering on Harry. 'We'll talk later, Harry.'

Harry tried not to look too excited. If wanted to know what he wasn't being told, he would just have to be patient and wait.

But Harry didn't see him for the rest of the day, and during the next two, it seemed as if Sirius wasn't even present in the castle. Just when Harry was beginning to worry about him, he showed his face only to say that he was going for a fly on his bike. Harry offered to go with him, but Sirius insisted that he needed to be alone. The day he left was strange, looking back on it. Remus, Snape and Dumbledore were all there to see him off as if he was leaving for years instead of just a few short hours. Harry sensed the strange atmosphere, even though he couldn't place it, and held on slightly longer than usual when Sirius hugged him.

'Be careful, Sirius,' Harry said.

'I'm always careful.' Sirius smiled.

'You're never careful,' Harry pressed. '_Never_. Just promise me you'll be careful. Don't do anything reckless.'

'Of course, I won't.' Sirius grinned. 'I have you for my role model after all.'

Harry looked into his grey eyes, grey like the eyes of his saviour from not so long ago, searching for truths. He found love; that would have to be enough.

After a warm goodbye from Remus and a cooler reception from Snape, he climbed onto his magnificent chrome hover-bike and looked back on the congregation, framed by the sun. He sent an affectionate look to both Harry and Remus, completely passed over Snape, and stared at Dumbledore. Even as he revved up his bike, he stared, almost defiantly, back straight, chin jutted, before taking off. Harry watched him until he was absorbed by the sun, melting into oblivion, a place from which he would never return.

…

'No.'

'I'm so sorry, Harry.'

'No.' The boy barely registered him. 'No, _no_. He promised.'

'I know, Harry.'

'He _promised_, Remus!' Harry yelled. 'He said he'd be careful. He said he wouldn't be reckless. He said!'

'I know what he said.'

'Why?' Harry continued. 'Why didn't he listen? Why did he have to fly straight into _known_ Death Eater territory like the stupid dog he is? A stupid, reckless dog. Shot in the head.'

Harry trembled with what Remus knew to be memories of his family's death, the massacre of their dogs. Sirius' death was just another door, a path back to his parents' murder. The memory had still haunted him in his nightmares, but Harry had been safe in the daytime. Until now. Why did it have to be now?

Remus knelt before Harry and dragged him into a hug, trying to be stronger as Harry cried Sirius's name again and again into his neck until his throat was too raw, and he too tired, to make a sound. Only then, in the new peace, did Remus allow himself to weep for Sirius.

…

Harry didn't do much leading up to Sirius's funeral. He confined himself to his room, trying to block out the horrible thoughts trying to rule his head. Dark thoughts that no child should have, of helplessness, murder and despair. When he did leave his room, he wandered the hallways in a daze, stopping and retracing his steps whenever something reminded him of Sirius. He completely boycotted the crater where they had flown together. He would avoid the adults as well, partly ashamed at how he had acted, bawling himself to sleep. Mad-Eye would have had his head for that.

Sometimes he would drift near Dumbledore's office, and he would hear a voice shouting. It sounded furious and eerily like Remus, but it couldn't be him. Remus never shouted. Especially at Dumbledore, whom he deeply respected.

The funeral, of course, was another media hub. Harry was learning to despise the press: cameras invading his vision, stealing his sight with blinding flashes; insensitive, overeager reporters who thrived on tragedy and only wanted his grief while it was still fresh. He was tempted to yell at them, to order them away, but he didn't have the energy. He just walked past them, purposefully ignoring them beyond standard politeness. They showed him no courtesy, why should he them?

He slightly came alive when it was time for him to deliver his speech. He had tried to pen what he wanted to say, but it had never come out right. His words were better live, straight from his soul.

'There was a star back on Earth called the Dog Star, and it was the brightest in the night sky. People looked to it for direction, for inspiration, even for handy tips about the weather.' There was a faint rumble of laughter, and Harry let it die down. 'The star's official name was Sirius. Now, _our_ Sirius was a dog, at least that's what he wanted us all to believe.' The audience laughed again, a few cameras flashed, and Harry tried not flinch.

'He was loud, uproarious, _very_ fond of attention and chasing his own tail.' Another laugh confirmed this. 'But he was also loyal, to me and his loved ones, caring and my best friend. Despite all of his failings, he truly was the brightest person in my life. Ever since,' Harry took time to breathe, shake off his impeding emotions, 'ever since my parents died, Sirius has been my father, my mother and my brother and losing him is like…like losing my whole family all over again.

'I still can't believe it sometimes, that he's gone. It felt like he'd always be there for me. He was so persistent, always trying to be by my side. Sometimes I pushed him away, I wish I hadn't now. I should have valued every sign of love he could give. But no, it's too late, and it's just…it's just so wrong. Because I wonder, how many people can Vol- can You-Know-Who possibly take from me? How many more?' Harry was beginning to fall apart. He had to finish it now. 'But I should forget that and just remember Sirius Black. I will always remember my Sirius. He was my Dog Star.'

Harry wasn't sure if the round of applause was proper or necessary, but he cared more about getting off the stage. The journalists only grew more determined, and Harry became tired of running away. Finally, he let a very young reporter, with the bright eyes of a newcomer, snag his arm and lead him away from the throng of laudatory adults.

'Rita Skeeter,' the woman said immediately, offering her green-taloned hand to shake. 'And of course, you're Harry Potter. And may I express my condolences for the death of your beloved uncle.'

'He was my godf-'

'And now, let's talk about that_ speech_ of yours. I'm sure no-one was expecting that at all. So many long words. If you weren't so little, I'd suggest a job in the newspaper business for your way with words. I mean, you're tiny, but you touched all of our hearts. How old are you, six?'

'Nine.'

'Ah, well, still very impressive. Slightly less, but impressive. Now, the question that we're all dying to ask is how did you react when you found out that Sirius Black was dead?'

Harry glared at her in disbelief.

'I'm sensing heartbroken and a touch angry. Yes, that makes perfect sense. After all, sources say that you two were very close.'

'Which sources?' Harry frowned.

'People,' she said vaguely, 'and your speech highlighted that clearly enough, didn't it? Now onto your fabled home. You haven't been in the public eye very much, considering how famous you are. We're all anxious to know where you've been hiding.'

'So that any Dark Lord supporters who read this could inform him and try to kill me?' Harry asked.

'Of course.' Skeeter laughed. 'You're a very smart six-year-old boy, aren't you?'

'I'm nine.'

'And what was it like being the Chosen One and the ex-hope of the planet? It must have been quite exciting.'

_Hope?_ Harry thought, then, _Ex-hope?_ 'Not really.'

'But anyway, back to Sirius Black's death. It was rather suspicious, wasn't it?'

'How?' Harry asked, wondering how this woman could possibly say anything profound or insightful.

'Well, why would the Death Eaters kill a known ally of yours if You-Know-Who is gone?'

The world fell away from Harry for a moment. The chatter, the clink of cutlery on plates, the shuffle of footsteps, disappeared leaving just that word "gone" to reverberate around his head.

'How…' Harry cleared his hoarse throat. 'How long has he been gone for?'

'My, for at least two years now. I thought you knew. Many of his supposed followers have come back to our side, claiming to have been blackmailed into serving him. That's why Sirius Black's murder is so unusual, you see?'

'Is that also why I'm an "ex-hope"?' Harry asked.

'Well, of course. Since You-Know-Who has disappeared from the planet, you don't need to kill him anymore. His reign of terror is over.'

'And yet you still can't bring yourself to say his name,' Harry told her before excusing himself. He had to find Dumbledore.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Any thoughts, theories, opinions, suggestions?


	6. Chapter 6

It seemed that Dumbledore had left the funeral early. No matter how thoroughly Harry searched, he couldn't find him. The calm before the confrontation allowed him to think things over. Now he was a little more at peace with Sirius' death, he could reflect over what the man had tried to tell him before. There was an actual prophecy about him. One that stated that he was the only person who could kill Voldemort, the Dark Lord who many feared. But the man had disappeared off the face of the planet. Why hadn't Dumbledore told him? And, more importantly, why had he continued training even through Voldemort's absence? Questions needed to be asked, doubts allayed. Sirius had always spoken well of Dumbledore until the days before he died.

…

'We cannot tell him the truth,' Dumbledore repeated.

'Potter suspects,' Snape said. 'Lupin clearly told us what Black had said to him. He fed doubts into the boy's mind. He effectively told him that you were hiding information from him.'

'We need Harry's support if we should ever hope to defeat Lord Voldemort. He is our only chance. He cannot know the whole truth; it might turn him against us as well.'

'But if he feels that you are being duplicitous in any way, he'll be less likely to follow your plan. We need him to follow the plan to defeat the Dark Lord, to make Lily's death worth something.' Snape's face was pained as he said this.

'I know, Severus, and I understand your sentiments. I will tell Harry part of the truth but not all. He'll feel that there is mutual trust between us. It's time the boy knew of his prophecy after all. His destined path.'

Fawkes cawed from his perch, and Dumbledore turned towards the door. 'It appears that young Harry is coming to find us first.'

The boy was irate, the anger incongruous on his little face, like a vengeful cherub's, a fallen angel's. 'Why didn't you tell me that Voldemort's gone?'

Snape's gaze flicked to Dumbledore's with half-disguised alarm: 'And how did you find that out?'

'I found out from Rita Skeeter, a reporter. And I thought that journalists were meant to be the lowest of the low when it came to telling the truth.'

Despite himself, Snape smirked as Lily's fire came into play. Dumbledore sighed, playing the weary old soul. 'You believe me to be a liar, Harry?'

'I believe what Sirius was trying to tell me, that you've been hiding important things from me.'

'It was for your own protection.'

That Snape knew was true. Dumbledore had gone great lengths to ensure that there was a Chosen One at all, and he would go to even greater ones to make sure he lived to carry out his duty. Also, it seemed that the Head of the Order of the Phoenix had become rather fond of the child, though Snape couldn't see why for the life of him.

'My protection? How is keeping the fact that there's a _prophecy_ about me protecting me?'

'Because of the terrible pressure it puts on you. You are so young, Harry, this prophecy was made before you were born. This whole population has been waiting for someone like you to come. You carry the hopes of our world on your shoulders because of the prophecy. I had hoped to spare it from you a little longer, until you were older, but I suppose that it was inevitable that you found out.'

'People from outside have been calling me the Chosen One.'

'Yes, that is how you are known outside of these walls. You were chosen by Lord Voldemort himself to defeat him.'

'Why would he choose a person to defeat him?' Harry asked, intrigued. Snape had to admire the mastery with which Dumbledore had diffused Potter's anger and manipulated half-truths until they seemed whole.

'He didn't do it intentionally; it is all part of the prophecy. Would you like for me to recite it?'

'Yes, please,' was Harry's immediate response.

'Very well. "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."_'

'Neither can live while the other survives,' Harry whispered. 'I said that to Sirius, in a sense.' Dumbledore raised his eyebrows but let him continue. 'I told him that Voldemort wouldn't stop until I was dead, because that's what you said. And I know that I won't be able to live peacefully until Voldemort is gone…so…it's like what the prophecy said…' Harry tailed off, shrugging meekly.

Dumbledore shook his head. How did the boy come across such thoughts by himself? As if Harry could read his mind, he said, 'I've been thinking a lot recently about what everyone's said to me. That's what I thought in the end. Neither of us can really live until the other one dies.

'But then, that's what I don't understand. Voldemort's gone, he's been gone for ages, so why am I still doing this?' His fury was remembered and stoked. 'Why did you keep me going as if he was still there? Why did they kill Sirius if he's gone?'

Snape looked to Dumbledore, simply spectating.

'Harry, you will have to trust my reasoning on this.'

Harry watched him awhile, Mad-Eye Moody's adage of "Constant Vigilance" roaring through his mind. Gingerly, he nodded.

'I believe that Voldemort has simply left the planet, not died like the public hopes and the government and newspapers have tried to press.' _Ex-hope_, Harry's mind reminded him of Skeeter's words. 'Now the war between our side and Voldemort's forces had been raging fiercely before and after you were born. If you know anything about his character at all, you know that he is unwavering in achieving his goals. His pursuit of you being a fine example.'

Harry nodded in acknowledgement and Dumbledore smiled before saying: 'It would take a lot for him to leave the battlefield; he is so dedicated to winning. So, your conclusion, Harry. Where do you think he's gone to?'

Harry jolted at being given the chance to make a deduction, but he started thinking, drawing on his lessons. 'Leaving the battle would put him at a serious disadvantage, so…so whatever he's doing must be worth it, giving him an even greater advantage. Maybe he's left here to find that advantage. Something to make him stronger, something that we don't have here.'

'Very good, Harry.' Dumbledore beamed. 'When Lord Voldemort returns, I would be very surprised if he wasn't far stronger than he was before.'

'But Mr Dumbledore,' Harry said, 'that doesn't explain why you didn't tell me he went missing.'

'Because I didn't want you to give up, Harry. I didn't want you to drift into a false sense of security or complacency and stop your training and your studies. I wanted to keep working as hard as you have, and if that meant keeping the threat alive, then so be it.'

'You should've known that this news would have only made me work harder,' Harry whispered, and those green eyes were aflame once more.

'I will make note of that for future reference,' Dumbledore said good-naturedly. 'There is something else that I think you should know.'

Harry looked up at him, ready to lap up the new information.

'Several suspected Death Eaters have pleaded guilty to having followed him, claiming to have been misled, blackmailed or under the influence of Imperium.'

_Imperium_, a chemical that, if injected into your bloodstream, could control you. Harry shuddered at the thought, but then he really thought. 'But what if some of them were lying?'

'I'm afraid that most of them probably were. But we have no proof. They have been allowed to live among us in peace.'

'Veritaserum,' Harry said and Snape jolted at this reference to something he'd tried to teach the boy.

'Is as unethical and dangerous as Imperium. They can both damage the body and mind. In fact, they have managed to separate those ex-Death Eaters who have been affected by Imperium from the other claimants because of the weakness in their joints and nerves. It would be cruel to inflict this on the remaining Death Eaters.'

'They deserve it,' Harry said.

'Now, Harry,' Dumbledore looked sad, 'what of those who truly were coerced into following the Dark Lord? Should they deserve to suffer too?'

Harry stared down at his feet. 'That silver thing you gave to me, to take my memories. What about that?'

'I'm afraid that it is illegal to take memories from their owners without consent.'

Harry could understand, he supposed, but: 'Even when it's this important? Even when there are possible Death Eaters in their midst?'

'It is the law, Harry, so I suggest that you would take that up with the Ministry instead of myself. I am only so influential in the world of politics nowadays.'

Snape only just managed to stop himself snorting. Now that was a lie but, even with Harry's training, the nine year old couldn't spot the master at work.

'Now, focusing on the more important point. I think that Lord Voldemort planned for them to act this way. Can you tell me why, Harry? I would love a second opinion on this.'

Snape saw Harry try to hide how pleased he was. Make the boy feel respected, acknowledge his abilities, show him trust. Dumbledore really knew what he was doing. Snape's thoughts were interrupted when Harry spoke up.

'Well, they're acting the way they would if Voldemort was actually dead,' Harry began pensively. 'So maybe Voldemort wants to make the Ministry feel secure, so they'd get lazy and not be as prepared when he returns. He wants to take us by surprise.'

'Excellent, Harry. My thoughts exactly. Anything else?'

'Um…' Harry really didn't know.

'Think about the Death Eaters, now living among us.'

'Spies!' Harry exclaimed.

'Indeed, a few have enjoyed money and power in the Ministry even before Voldemort's disappearance. They have great influence over what the Ministry does.'

'So we can't trust it, or the newspapers.' Harry nodded.

'No, just yourself, myself and the Order.'

Snape watched as Harry frowned at these words, mulling them over. He looked into Dumbledore's kindly face, eyes dark. 'I trust you. I trust you to help me be ready for Voldemort, so I can fulfil the prophecy.'

His eyes glowed like a solar gun; they glinted with the promise of death. It was a chilling emotion to see on such a young face, but it was necessary. Dumbledore told himself that the thirst for vengeance that burned in Harry's eyes was good for them, good for society, if not for the boy it belonged to.

…

Harry hadn't quite returned to himself after Sirius's death. Remus often voiced his worry for the young boy, who spent more time alone, had vivid nightmares every night and engaged in his studies with unhealthy gusto. He never smiled; he never laughed; he never flew.

Dumbledore began by being satisfied by his improved work ethic but soon came to hold the same concerns. Harry was becoming a very unhappy child, and Dumbledore needed him healthy and sound and in love with the world. How could Harry fight for the world with all his strength if he didn't love it?

Snape was tasked with mind healing exercises in hope of dealing with Harry's now irascible temper, but the boy, antagonised by Snape and his unwelcoming dungeon, found it hard to cooperate.

'How many times, boy? Clear your mind, free it of all thought,' Snape snapped. 'Don't let the anger take hold of you.'

'Stop angering me then,' Harry replied in a rare moment of impudence.

Snape glowered, seeing nothing but James Potter before him, arrogant and unmannerly. 'Watch your mouth, boy. I will not be addressed with such disrespect. You are in my lesson, and I expect you to _learn _and control your petty emotions.'

'Can I ask you something? Student to teacher?'

Snape stared mistrustfully at him. 'Go on.'

'When my mum died, could _you _control your emotions?' Snape hissed, perhaps in protest, but Harry pressed on. 'Did you clear your mind of anger and hate? Did you? You didn't. You're still angry, even now, years later. You're always angry, especially at me.'

Snape was drawn to those evergreen eyes, framed not by the irritating Potter glasses but by dark, sweeping lashes. Suddenly, all he saw in the boy was his mother, that heated glare he wore so well belonged to Lily in the middle of a passionate debate.

'You should let go of your anger first,' Harry was saying, and Snape realised with shock that he had been lost in contemplation over the boy's emerald eyes. 'I refuse to be told off by a teacher who won't even learn his own lesson.'

An aberrant hissing permeated the quiet and orderly soundscape of Snape's lab, and both boy and man turned to see that a chemical formula was bubbling furiously in its flask, instead of calmly simmering as the master chemist had left it. Snape stood to rectify the problem, but it exploded before he could reach it. How strange. He'd prepared that particular formula countless times without issue. Only today…

The boy stormed out before Snape could even order him to stay. Not that the man could have if he wanted to; he was still frozen by the fact that he had never admitted until now. Harry was truly Lily's son.

…

Soon, the only part of Harry's discontent they could treat was his loneliness. The boy had become strongly possessive over the contents of his mind, both the positive and the negative. Remus saw the hole in Harry's life that needed to be filled by friends; Dumbledore saw Harry's isolation as a serious flaw in the boy's behaviour. If Harry wasn't used to being around people, couldn't befriend or charm them, how would he ever lead them?

From that moment on, Ron Weasley's visits to Hogwarts Castle were a lot more frequent. Their friendship had always struck those who knew them as slightly odd. They were very different personalities. Ron was always joking and never took anything seriously, while Harry had a darker edge to him, even at such a young age. However, Harry greatly treasured his first friend, whose light mood never failed to draw a smile out of him, and Ron found Harry fascinating because he was so different from anything else Ron had ever known.

For the first time in the weeks after Sirius's death, Harry was acting like a child again: racing down the hallways, flying in the large dirt basin, exchanging toilet humour and giggling uncontrollably. Remus and Dumbledore were heartened, but Snape internally suffered: they were like Potter and Black all over again.

At Dumbledore's request, Ron occasionally brought along a sibling or two. His eldest brothers, Bill and Charlie, were usually busy, but both ventured out at least once to see the prophesised "Chosen One". Percy was a bore and, to Harry's mild dismay, believed the Ministry over the Order when they claimed that Voldemort was gone forever. Harry had argued with him on this and was glad to hear from a grinning Ron that Percy was cowed out of returning. The next to visit were the twins, Fred and George, who were two years his senior and Ginny, who was a year younger.

'Did I mention that she wants to marry you?'

'What?' Harry spluttered.

'I know! Mental, isn't she? I mean, you're only nine, Harry, and she's eight. People don't get married until _ages_ later.'

'Yeah,' Harry agreed fervently. 'What about the twins, what are they like?'

'They're all right. They like to play jokes on people though. They'll probably try to prank you as well, straight away.'

Harry grinned over at Ron. 'I'd like to see them try.'

And try they did. When the three additional Weasleys came to greet Harry, Ginny hanging back and the twins barging forward, the one on the right held out a hand to shake: 'Hi, I'm George.'

'Nice try, Fred.' Ron stuck his tongue out from beside Harry.

'No one asked you, Ronnie,' the exposed Fred retorted.

Harry made to take his hand, before thinking better of it and turning it so the palm was facing upwards. Attached to the centre was a standard shocking device. 'Yes, nice try, Fred,' Harry said, smiling innocently at Fred's stunned face.

'How?' The boy Harry assumed was George asked.

'My godfather was a master prankster.' Harry told him matter-of-factly. 'You're going to have to do better than that.'

Ron crowed triumphantly. 'I _told_ you he was awesome. Ginny, stop hovering around in the back and say hi.'

Ginny shuffled forwards, freckles melding into an unbroken mass of red, and said hello. 'Hi,' Harry replied kindly enough.

'She's not usually like this, Ron whispered in his ear. 'Come on, let's show them the castle. They didn't believe me when I told them how big it was.'

Harry took them on a rather noisy tour of the lower floors (to do all of them would take more time than they had). The twins were very vocal about their opinions while Ginny remained virtually mute.

'M'god! Look at the size of that room.'

'You could fit a giant under that ceiling.'

'If giants existed.'

'What's that?'

'Where does that corridor go?'

'What's this way?'

'Hey, Fred, look at him.'

George pointed at a portrait of a grossly overweight man, a previous owner of the place, sprawled out on a straining armchair.

'Wow, did he really look like that, or did the painter just hate him?' Fred joked in reply.

Harry stared at them seriously. 'That's my grandfather.'

The twins stopped laughing, looking slightly embarrassed. 'Oh, well, er...'

'I've been told that we share a great resemblance.'

'You don't, er, really…' George muttered.

'Are you saying I'm fat?' Harry looked close to tears. He saw Ron red with concealed laughter out of the corner of his eye. 'Do you really think that?'

'No, Harry, of course not.' Fred was looking genuinely affected now.

'I can't help my genes, Fred,' Harry continued.

'Of course not,' Fred repeated. 'But you're fine, you're not fat.'

Harry smiled at them sadly. 'You don't have to lie to me. I know the truth now. I'll never be beautiful like my mother. I'm destined for a life of obesity.'

'No, Harry, come on. We were just joking,' George protested. 'Harry…what are you doing, Harry?'

Even Ron looked concerned as Harry climbed onto the windowsill and swung the window open. 'Harry?'

'It's fine.' Harry sighed. 'There's no point pretending anymore.'

'What's going on?' Ron mumbled.

'Harry, get off there.' Fred was close to yelling but not quite. That was reserved for when Harry jumped off.

'What the-?! Harry?!'

The four Weasleys rushed forwards, pushing for the best view out of the window.

'Can you see him?'

'I can't see him. There's just trees!'

'Harry!' Ron shrieked. 'Harry!'

'Merlin! You killed the Chosen One,' George yelled at Fred.

'_I_ killed the Chosen One? _You_ killed the Chosen One too!' Fred countered, shoving George.

'Technically, you both did,' came a voice from beside them.

The Weasleys jumped out of their skins when they finally noticed Harry, clinging like a monkey to the ivy-swathed wall, the epitome of calm.

Fred was the first to recover. 'You little bludger!'

George was second. 'The pranking kings have been fooled. What a weird feeling.'

'Harry,' Ron snivelled, wiping his nose with his forearm, 'I thought you died.' Beside him, Ginny had actually begun to cry in earnest.

'Sorry, Ron.' Harry smiled at his friend as he landed lightly within the castle again. He looked to Ginny, feeling slightly guilty for reducing her to tears and completely lost on how to comfort her. What did his mum do? She sort of stroked his hair and told him everything was going to be ok.

'Ginny?' Harry muttered, tentatively patting the girl's head. 'Um, sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I'm alive, Ginny, it's ok.'

Despite their tiny gap in age, Harry was much taller and he suddenly felt big-brotherly and responsible. 'I'm sorry, it's ok now. Everything's going to be ok.'

Ginny had stopped by now and she nodded, trying to meet his green eyes with teary brown but always missing.

'Do we get kind words too, Harry?' Fred asked cheekily.

'How about a pat on the head? Do we get that?' George chimed in.

'Oh, sod you both.' Harry laughed.

Harry finally got the chance to play team Quidditch; two a side (two chasers and two keepers) with the fifth playing the Seeker, who determined the game's end with a catch of the Snitch. If Sirius had been there it would have been an even number. Harry made a satisfactory Chaser and Keeper, but he truly shone when he was chasing after the elusive charged ball, the games being generally shorter when it was his turn to be the Seeker.

Three of the Weasleys went home towards the evening, but Ron stayed overnight as he sometimes did.

'Harry, what you did earlier was really funny, but then it was really mean,' Ron said, pushing a pawn forward.

Harry glanced up from the chessboard. 'Why?'

'I really thought you died.'

'I'm sorry,' Harry said, playing his next move.

'But then it got me thinking, you see.' Ron's hands faltered, a finger tapping incessantly on the head of a bishop, 'I thought, about you having to be the Chosen One, because both my parents know that You-Know-Who isn't dead, and I thought, you could die. I mean, you really could. And that's really scary.'

Harry looked at the board. He didn't feel fear. He was sure that he would, someday, closer to the time, but now it seemed like a distant daydream. 'I'm not going to die, Ron.'

'Promise me.'

'Promises don't always work.'

'Promise me,' Ron insisted.

'I promise I won't die.'

'Good. You're my best friend, you know,' Ron said, the smile sneaking back onto his face.

'I'm not.' Harry smiled anyway.

'You are,' Ron maintained. 'I like being here. It's fun. I wish you could come and see my house too. I mean, it's nothing like your house, but it's loud and crampy, and you said you like that.'

'I want to see your house.' Harry smiled. 'You're my best friend too.'

Ron nodded enthusiastically. 'I used to _really_ want to be you. I wanted to live here and have cool training and be called the Chosen One all the time.'

'But now?' Harry asked.

'Now? Oh, well, sometimes I see you before you see me, and you look really sad. And then I realise you have a lot of things to be sad about. And lots of things to worry about, like You-Know Who.'

'Yeah, I do,' Harry said. 'We both have things to be grateful for though. Remember that, Ron.'

'Yeah, like the fact that I keep beating you at chess,' Ron cheered.

Harry took one look at his endangered king and sighed, mock-exasperatedly. 'Well, if I ever need to play chess against You-Know-Who, I know who to call.'

The boys laughed together as they packed up the chess set and snuggled into bed, comfortable and safe in each other's company.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Not the best I've ever written, but the twins make up for it! Please feel free to alter the chapter-to-review ratio for the better. :)

Grapes: thank you for your continued support. I've always found Remus's canon personality quite passive, which will probably happen here as well, but that's just my interpretation.


	7. Chapter 7

And the mythical Hermione finally appears! Let the slow-moving countdown to Harmony begin.

* * *

><p>'Can I go to Ron's house?'<p>

Dumbledore stared at him from across the desk but remained silent.

'I mean, Voldemort's not out there anymore, so I should be able to go out sometimes, shouldn't I?'

'That is true, but there are some Death Eaters out there, still active. Need I remind you of what happened to Sirius?'

Harry inhaled sharply. 'No, but…'

'But?'

'But I could get someone to go with me, like Moony. I wouldn't go alone.'

'I see. You'll understand that I have to give this some thought first and consult with Arthur and Molly.'

'Yes,' Harry said, slightly glumly, 'I understand.'

'You get on very well with young Mr Weasley,' Dumbledore said encouragingly.

'Yes!' Harry replied, face brightening. 'He's my best friend.'

'That's very good. How would you like to have even more friends like Ron?'

Harry gave him a quizzical look. 'Are you going to bring more Order children here?'

'In a sense.'

'Could you explain, please?'

'I'm thinking about turning Hogwarts Castle into a school once you reach the age of eleven.'

Harry perked up. 'A school? What sort of school?'

'A school that teaches the same things that the Order has taught you.'

'They'll be trained, to be like me?' Harry asked. 'Then, what's the point of me?'

'Even the Chosen One cannot defeat the Dark Lord alone. Every leader needs his army. While these students learn to fight, you will learn to lead them.'

'Why not use your Order of the Phoenix? They're adults, and they already know how to fight.'

'There are simply not enough of them, Harry. I'd number them at sixty at the most. We'd taken a lot of casualties during the first phase of the war. Also, I believe that growing with your followers, making deep connections with each of them, will serve both your leadership skills and strengthen loyalty.'

'Oh, that makes sense. Who will teach them? The Order?'

'Yes, the Order has agreed to invest their time and knowledge into cultivating these pupils to the best of their abilities. Do you think this is a good idea, Harry? Do you think that this would serve our cause well?'

Harry thought about it. 'Will Ron be at the school?'

'If he wants to then he certainly has a place at this school. The twins and Miss Ginny Weasley as well when she is of the right age.'

'What about the older Weasleys?'

'If they wished to fight for our cause, they would be entered straight into the Order itself. I was thinking of having the eldest year group only two or three years above you.'

'Ok. Can I tell Ron?'

'Yes, you may, when you see him at the Burrow.'

'The Burrow…you mean, I can go?' He waited upon Dumbledore's smiling nod before bubbling with excitement. 'Thank you! Thank you. We should definitely have a school; it's a great idea.' Harry beamed, leaping seamlessly on the table and pulling the startled man into a hug. 'Thank you.' His jewel-like eyes gleamed with joy.

'You're very welcome, dear boy.'

He would let the boy have this treat, Dumbledore mused as the boy ran out of the room, and many others. Present himself as unfathomably kind, make the boy look upon him as his greatest protector and benefactor. And also, let the boy see the world and its beauty while it was safer to do so, let him become attached to it so that he was all the more eager to save it when the time came. It would take more than the desire for revenge to defeat Voldemort. It would take love.

…

Remus and Mad-Eye Moody took Harry to the Burrow together, and Harry immediately fell in love with the tall, slanted house, hanging together despite the laws of gravity. Ron opened the door and immediately called backwards: 'Mum! Mum! Harry's here!'

Harry was wrestled into the house by Ron and the late-arriving twins leaving Remus and Mad-Eye to glance amusedly at each other before entering. Ron's father, who Harry still hadn't met, was sitting at the kitchen table, brows furrowed as he read the latest mendacious issue of the Daily Prophet. He looked up as the noisy welcoming party paraded into the kitchen and smiled at Harry through skew-whiff glasses. 'You must be Harry Potter. Pleased to meet you. I'm Ron's father, Arthur.'

'Hello, Mr Weasley,' Harry said, taken the man's hand. The Weasley patriarch looked rather brow-beaten in Harry's opinion. He was thin, balding and what was left of that trademark red hair was quickly greying.

Before he could say anything further, Mrs Weasley, looking as plump and vibrant as ever, seized command of the guests. 'Harry dear! Look at you, you're skin and bones,' she declared, referring to Harry's wiry, fatless frame. 'Tell me you're staying for dinner.'

'Yes,' Harry decided before Remus and Mad-Eye could even get a word in.

'Good, good,' Molly clucked. 'I've baked some pumpkin pie for the occasion.'

'Yes! I knew I smelt something good,' Ron whooped.

'Thanks mum,' the twins chorused.

All three Weasleys reached for the slice that Molly was currently levering onto a plate. She whacked each hand with the flat of the utensil, 'Guests first!' she raged before regaining her sweet, mothering tone. 'Here you go, Harry dear.'

'Thank you, Mrs We- Molly.'

'It's no problem, dear.' Molly Weasley beamed before cutting a slice for Remus. 'Remus, you're looking peaky.'

The pie was delicious, and the four boys took it out to eat in the garden, which was a wild mess. Harry loved it. It was here, feeling very much like a Weasley, that Harry told them about the school, much to their delight.

'Staying in that massive castle.'

'Learning all sorts of fighting skills.'

'Do we get weapons?'

'Lots of pranking opportunities.'

'Say, Harry, do you know if there are any secret corridors?'

'I'll get to see you every day!' Ron said.

'Aww,' the twins chorused.

'Bless our little soppy Ronniekins,' Fred added.

'I'm not soppy!' Ron's face and ears heated up immediately.

'Leave him alone, Fred. It's not his fault people are so eager to be around me,' Harry quipped, mimicking the Weasley twins' smirk.

One of the twins laughed while the other said, 'I'm not Fred, I'm George.'

'No, you're Fred. I can tell now.'

'How?'

'You have slightly different facial features and mannerisms.' Harry shrugged. 'I mean, you're identical twins, but it's not like you're the exact same person.'

'So, which features?' George pressed.

'Fred has a longer nose.'

'Ha!' George laughed.

'But George has a slightly bigger mouth.'

'What?'

'Ha, big mouth!'

'At least I don't have a carrot for a nose.'

While the twins squabbled, Ron and Harry sneaked off to steal their hoverboards and go flying.

Harry left the castle quite often after that successful trip, and the Weasleys took him out to see the world. They took him to Gringotts Bank, where he found the rather hefty sum of cash left to him in his parents' and Sirius's bank vaults, they went the Diagon Alley, a beautiful, bustling shopping district that sold everything from clothes to pets to chemical solutions. They even took him to his first Quidditch game and got him even more hooked on the sport.

The world was amazing. Harry couldn't believe that it had taken so long for him to see it. Why Lord Voldemort wanted to harm it, Harry couldn't imagine.

…

Preparations for the castle's conversion into a school were well underway. A steady stream of desks and chairs, computers and tablets, benches and beds were being imported by the day, displacing the erstwhile furniture in surplus bedrooms and sitting rooms.

'It is to be called the Official Order of the Phoenix School,' Dumbledore told Harry as they watched the transport of equipment and stationery from the front entrance to various points in the castle. 'The Order and I have used our considerable influence to convince the majority of the public that the Dark Lord can and will return. We have many entrants between the ages of ten and thirteen.'

'That's good.' Harry nodded.

'We've used your name and role at this school quite liberally in order to increase the number of hopefuls. I hope you forgive me.'

'That's ok. So does everyone automatically get in?'

'No, they have to go through some initial tests…don't worry, I'm sure that young Mr Weasley and his brothers will pass. From what you tell me, young Ronald seems to have great tactical skills. If they pass the test, then they will be put into four houses based on their attributes.'

'What are the houses?'

'We have thought about this carefully, I hope you'll agree. The red house will be The Lion House for those of exceptional bravery and strength of will. The blue house, The Raven House, for those with a thirst for knowledge and research. The Snake House, which will be green, are for those with a cunning, resourceful streak. The yellow Badger House, will be for the loyal, the patient, the dedicated and the just.'

'So, you want to divide them to see who will be my fiercest fighters, my wisest advisors, my sharpest tacticians and my fairest mediators?' Harry asked after weighing each description in his head.

'Precisely.'

'But wouldn't I want them all to be strong and brave and intelligent?'

'Do not worry, Harry. They will be. It will just be that some are more predisposed to certain traits than others.'

'I understand.' Harry nodded. 'Mr Dumbledore?'

'Yes, Harry?'

'Which house will I belong to?'

'Well, we've decided that you won't have a house, Harry.'

'Why not?'

'We do not wish to favour any of the houses. You are seen as the figurehead of this army and you need to be equally bound to each faction and completely unbiased. You are a member of all of them, not none of them.'

'That doesn't sound as bad, I guess.' Harry smiled reluctantly. 'Are you going to be the headmaster?'

'Yes, most likely, Harry.'

'Do I have to call you Headmaster?'

'Professor will be fine, Harry.' He watched the boy, who was poised to ask yet another question. 'Yes, Harry?'

'How will the students be tested for attributes? Resourcefulness and intelligence sound ok, but how do you measure justness?'

'Simulations, Harry. Simulations to see how they react in various situations and that also give us an insight into the way their mind works. But enough of that, Harry. I have something to show you.'

Dumbledore led Harry to one of the few rooms that the boy hadn't managed to unearth during his residence there. It was small and cylindrical in shape and had a great amount of security measures set both outside and inside of it. There was one light, which illumined the centre of the room when Dumbledore flipped the switch. Bathed in this light, resting on a podium, was a beautifully crafted gun.

'This solar gun was crafted by the late great Garrick Ollivander. There is only another of its kind in the world.'

Harry resisted the urge to stroke its sleek form, satisfying himself with examining it, watching the threads of poisonous green that thrived in the weak light. Suddenly he remembered.

'Voldemort. Voldemort has the other one,' he said, rather dispassionately. 'I saw it. He killed my parents with it.'

'This one is yours.'

Harry looked at it with different eyes. Longing but mistrustful, admiring yet loathing. 'Because I'm meant to be his equal?'

'No, because you deserve the best solar gun ever made, apart from its twin, of course.'

'Of course,' Harry said, taking it. It felt remarkably weightless in his hand, natural, organic. 'I like it. Voldemort has good taste,' he acknowledged grimly.

'Only when it comes to weapons. In beliefs, however, he is severely lacking.'

Harry nodded, shouldering the gun and leaving with Dumbledore.

…

Harry couldn't stop twitching. The chosen students were due today. He watched the first arrive in solar cars from his perch on the edge of the basin, his hoverboard resting across his lap. He was so nervous. Of all the students who would swarm the Great Hall, he would know three. Good Merlin, and then he would be introduced to them as some sort of leader, some sort of saviour, the Chosen One. It was at times like these that he wished he could be unchosen.

He glanced down and his uniform, already getting dusty from the orange rocks that covered the area. It was black and neat-fitting but left enough room for quick and precise movement. He wore dark trousers, a white shirt, a smart jacket with a beautiful phoenix insignia and a silken cravat tie. It was meant to be either red, yellow, green and blue, corresponding to the students' houses, but Harry's was a black, lined with gold. As if he needed to stand out more.

In a rush, he realised that he wanted to be in a house like the others. He wanted to belong to something, to just be another student, to not be differentiated, marked out, alone. He got up, sighing, he would probably have to be there to meet everyone. He activated his board, bounding into the air with a simple running leap and propelling himself over to the castle.

…

This was to be the most momentous day of her life ever…so far. Ever since she had heard of this schooling opportunity and eagerly applied, she had been researching both Hogwarts Castle and the Chosen One in great detail. There was plenty of information on the castle from descriptions of its Old Earthly Gothic-style architecture to details of its various ownerships; however, the boy remained an enigma. If he hadn't emerged from hiding to attend his parents' and godfather's funerals, she would have thought him dead in the fire that took his house so many years ago. She had read his funeral speech, published in full in many a newspaper, and it had touched her deeply. In short, she was anxious to begin school immediately and finally meet, perhaps even befriend, Harry Potter.

She was lucky to be here. Most of the children admitted she knew to be somehow associated with Albus Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Sons, daughters, grandchildren, nieces and nephews, godchildren, children of friends. Others came from rich or connected families that held lofty positions. She, the child of two dentists from a minor surgery, had been chosen solely based on her intellect. This world of soldiers and skill and war and money felt so separate to her, no matter how much she read about it. She told herself that it didn't matter, that she was here to serve her planet, but part of her hoped that these stronger, smarter children would embrace her, not shun her for her intelligence.

There were two other girls and a boy in her car, the boy wearing Lion red and the two girls wearing Badger yellow. Why badgers were chosen as their emblem, she didn't know. They were hardly as intimidating or prestigious as snakes and lions. She smiled at them anyway, trying to look welcoming, and they responded just as shyly. The Lion boy was just as quiet but appeared more at ease, silent out of choice, not fear. They exchanged solemn nods before turning to admire the majesty of their new school.

This was her chance to be more than just Hermione Granger, the bookish busybody.

…

'This is your chance to win the Dark Lord's highest favour, for both yourself and your family.' Lucius Malfoy paced frantically behind his son, who watched him warily through the mirror's reflection. 'Win Harry Potter's friendship, integrate yourself as one of his closest allies, make him trust you as he trusts no other.'

'Yes, father,' Draco Malfoy said.

'Show him that you are a Malfoy and therefore the best. Tell him that the Chosen One should associate himself with nothing but the best.'

'I am the best,' Draco paraphrased.

'Do not let him forget that. Do not let him settle for anything less. Be the most powerful, the most influential, the smartest, the swiftest. He will have no choice but to want to be affiliated with you.'

'Yes, father.'

'And when the Dark Lord returns. It will be us, the Malfoys, who will deliver Potter to him.'

'And the Malfoys shall be elevated forever,' Draco finished.

Looking to the mirror once more, he imagined a woman, his mother, kneeling beside him, smoothing his platinum blond hair into the most aristocratic style it could assume. He wasn't sure if this was how she would act – his father rarely talked of her – but it would be nice. It would be nice to see those large, grey eyes, the mirror of his own, gaze at him with the warmth and affection a mother's eyes should.

'Most importantly, do not get attached,' his father concluded. 'A Malfoy is the master of his emotions. He acts but is not affected. He continues his plan through until the end, cleanly and clinically. There are to be no trivial emotions.'

'No, father,' Draco said. 'You don't have to worry about that. Because I hate Harry Potter.'

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Reviews are, as always, greatly encouraged.


	8. Chapter 8

His name was Neville Longbottom, he told her, son of not one but two members of the Order of the Phoenix. He was well-versed in most forms of fighting arts and had been avidly entered into the school by his grandmother, but he secretly preferred botany. Hermione was at a loss to his placement. His humble, quiet demeanour suited the Badgers or even her own house, the Ravens, not the boisterous crowd of red-tied Lions.

Her eyes hungrily raked the crowd without her fully realising it until Neville called her out. 'Who are you looking for? Harry Potter?'

Hermione blushed slightly. Was she really that obvious? 'I suppose that everyone here is at least slightly curious to see the fabled Chosen One.'

'That's true,' Neville said, expression indecipherable. 'Poor hom.'

'Have you met him, since your family's in the order?'

'My family hasn't really had a lot to do with his training.' Neville sounded uncomfortable, his eyes downcast. 'I haven't seen him since his parents' funeral.'

Hermione's mouth formed a silent "o" of solemnity. 'Were they close? Your parents and his?'

'Yeah, I guess, I mean I don't remember much.' He said this with an air of finality, closing down the topic. The silence between them didn't last for long as a tall, silver-haired man with winking eyes stepped up to the podium at the main hall.

'Oh, the headmaster,' Hermione announced excitedly.

'_Oh, the headmaster,'_ someone mimicked from behind her, and she sent a quick glare back at a group of sniggering children in green ties.

Draco shook his head from within his gang of Snakes, a handpicked selection of wellborn progeny. '_What_ is so exciting about an old coot with too much facial hair is beyond me,' he drawled and his companions were quick to agree, for it was known amongst all of them that the Malfoys were the most powerful and most esteemed by the Dark Lord.

Albus Dumbledore spoke, but Draco didn't care to listen. He wasn't here to have his ear talked off by the fool who led Order of the Phoenix, the man who stubbornly insisted that the Dark Lord wasn't truly gone, almost undermining his plan. Luckily, people like his father had control enough in the Ministry and the press to somewhat limit the damage Dumbledore was threatening to do.

'So, when are you planning to befriend the chosen Potter?' Zabini, Draco's oldest friend, asked him. Draco felt a swell of pride at the acknowledgement of his special task.

'Well, I'll have to find him first,' he said officiously, looking up and yet somehow looking down at his tall, dark friend. 'I just wish that blasted man would stop _talking._'

Parkinson and Greengrass tittered at this. _Girls_, thought Draco, but smiled regally at them.

'Suppose he's been warned off suspected Death Eaters,' Nott, ever the practical one, voiced.

Draco considered him. 'My family's name was cleared just as well as yours.'

'I didn't mean to imply anything about your family,' Nott said. 'It was just a suggestion.'

'All this fuss and we haven't even finished the introductory speech,' Zabini commented. 'I don't see why you need to say all of this when you both still support the Dark Lord anyway.'

'That's easy for you to say,' Draco murmured at a lower volume, indicating that Zabini should be doing the same. 'Your family never joined him.'

'Too much trouble.'

'Ever the fence-sitter.'

'Fences are surprisingly comfortable and give you a good view of both sides.'

Dumbledore was still talking, just about rounding up his introduction of the school teachers. Draco saw the semi-familiar face of Severus Snape up among them. His father respected him, had never said a bad word against him. It seemed that Draco had at least one ally among the staff. While he was thinking this, he noticed a shift in the mood of the surrounding students. They were more alert, glancing around excitedly, pointing at the door.

'Harry Potter,' Nott explained, 'is arriving apparently.'

Hermione gazed at the pair of double doors in senseless anticipation. Draco prepared himself to look upon the face of his new enemy. The doors opened, framing an eleven-year-old boy with messy hair.

He walked forward as if unaware of the multitude of gazes on him, and the crowd parted into two. Draco hadn't known what to expect. Perhaps the skinny, pathetic, snivelling boy that his father had often described with disdain. This boy, though average-sized, had the presence of a ten foot giant. His long-legged strides were precise and confident, his limbs and torso compact, his skin tanned from hours of exertion in the sun. His eyes, Draco actually physically turned to follow them; they were the purest green he had ever seen.

Hermione watched with equal parts envy and admiration as he strode by with his own brand of elegance. Once she had torn her gaze away from his emerald stare, she noticed how his uniform differed. His cravat was black and patterned gold, his emblem was not an animal of one of the four houses, but a phoenix. A phoenix, what did that mean? Which house was he in?

'He's cute,' said a Lion girl from behind her, her friend giggling in agreement. Hermione rolled her eyes. Really, girls were becoming so boy-focused, even at her fragile age. Although there was some sort of magnetism that surrounded him, even she could feel it.

Draco mentally scolded himself for staring, an act that neither Zabini nor Nott had missed, judging by their smirking faces. Parkinson and Greengrass were chattering excitedly, presumably about the stupid Chosen One, who now stood at the front of the hall.

Again, Dumbledore spoke and again, Draco ignored him, choosing instead to look at Potter and try and work up the loathing he had felt so strongly before. As if sensing his attempted ire, the boy gazed at him, green eyes impossibly bright. Draco glanced away quickly before recalling this as an act of submission. Cursing himself, he looked back up, hoping to match Potter's stare, only to see that the boy was already looking somewhere else. Draco looked decidedly sullen for the rest of the speech.

'Get back, Malfoy.' Zabini pulled him back as a section of ground, encapsulated by (Draco only just noticed) a long rectangle of coloured steel, opened in front of him. A long table, surrounded by benches, rose mechanically from this gap in the ground. Across the hall, three other tables were doing the same.

'Were you listening at all? The old man said to get back so our tables could come up.'

Draco looked to them and then behind them to see servants bustling about, taking serving domes off of the tables that lined the wall. That was a pretty decent quality banquet, even by Draco's standards.

Harry looked up at Dumbledore, eyes almost beseeching, and the man smiled. 'Yes, you may go down and see your friends.'

With a small smile, Harry leapt down from his podium and barrelled into Ron.

'Harry! M'god, that was some entrance.'

'It was embarrassing,' Harry replied, letting Ron lead him to sit at the nearest table.

'You looked completely _un_embarrassed though. Everyone was really impressed, com.' Ron grinned.

'I just tried not to fall over,' Harry said seriously. 'I don't see what's so impressive about that.'

'Harry!' A pair of voices assaulted him from behind, and Harry flinched, more out of battle instincts than actual fear.

'Well, if it isn't the terrible twosome,' Harry said, beginning to turn around to see them.

The twins attacked him from behind, hugging him, ruffling his hair and pinching his cheeks. 'If it isn't the famous Chosen One,' they chorused, attracting even more attention than Harry had gained alone.

'_The light of our school,_' Fred quoted.

'_The carrier of our hopes,'_ George added.

'_Our leader into a better future_,' they concluded together.

'Shut up!' Harry groaned. The students' eyes left a horrible prickling sensation on his skin. 'I can't believe Dumbledore _said _that.'

'Well, it's true, isn't it?' Harry and the twins looked towards the owner of the new voice. It was a friendly-looking, dark-skinned boy who smiled under their gazes. 'You're going to help us into a better future?'

'I guess, er, I mean, I can't promise anything.'

'Where is your conviction, Harry?' Fred snapped.

'You're meant to be the light of the school,' George chipped in.

'Maybe I'm not switched on?' Harry suggested.

Those who had heard him laughed, and Harry felt slightly better.

'Dean Thomas,' the boy said, holding out his hand. 'And I think the guy stuffing his face with pie is called Seamus Finnegan.'

'Fred and George Weasley,' George said, taking Dean's hand before Harry had the chance. 'We're his bodyguards.'

'Shut up,' Harry said again, dragging a hand down his face in embarrassment. He then realised that he hadn't heard from Ron in a while and looked up to see the boy looking unusually withdrawn. 'You all right, com?'

'Oh, yeah, yeah.' Ron's smile was half-hearted at best.

After a little thought, Harry bumped Ron's shoulder with his own. 'Hey, do you want to go and see what they've got at the banquet table?'

'Yeah.' Ron sounded more enthusiastic at this and they stood up together.

'The "bodyguards" can stay here and guard my spot,' Harry said.

'Aww.'

'No fair, Harry.'

'I'm hungry.'

Harry glanced at them quizzically. 'You know, you don't actually have to do as I say.'

'Oh, right, yeah.'

''Course.'

Harry and Ron, joined by the twins, Dean and Seamus (who had run out of food already), went to the banquet together, joking and jostling.

'So, I'm really surprised that they didn't sort you into the Snakes,' Ron said to the twins. 'You're "sneaky and cunning" all over.'

'At least, they try to be,' Harry said.

'Rude!' George shouted.

'No, the sim recognised the nobility of our hearts and the fire in our blood,' Fred said through a mouthful of food, pounding his chest for emphasis.

'What _I_ want to know is if they let you take the simulation together,' Harry said.

'No,' George said, 'weren't you the one making speeches about us not being the same person?'

'Apparently we got very similar results though.'

'We're both as bold as you can get.'

'That's why we're in the same house as the Chosen One.'

'Um,' Harry supposed that this was as good a moment as any, 'um, I'm not in the Lions.'

It took a while and several rapid, exchanged glances between the twins for the idea to compute. '_Whaaaat?_'

'Ssh,' Harry hushed urgently, glancing tensely from side to side, 'I said I'm not in your house.'

'Then which house are you in?' Ron asked incredulously. He tilted his head to the side, looking at the insignia on Harry's jacket. 'A bird. Are you a _Raven_?'

'That's not a raven, Ron. Since when were ravens orange?' Fred asked.

'Our little Ronnie's obviously not Raven material,' George said in a stage-whisper.

Ignoring their jibes for once, Ron addressed Harry. 'If you're not a Lion or a Raven, then what are you?'

'I'm, er, I'm not in any house,' Harry murmured.

'None of them?'

'No, I mean, I'm not meant to be. Each house has to have my equal support.'

'Oh.' Ron looked a bit disheartened at first, but gradually, a smile dominated his freckled face. 'Well, that means you're part of every house, so you're part of the Lions too. You can always sit at this table with us.'

'Thanks, Ron.' Harry grinned, unsure what else to add to fully express what this meant to him.

Ron took it at its surface value: 'S'all right, com.' And Harry supposed it was for now.

Dinner lasted for an hour before teachers swept down from the high table to assign dormitories. Each year group had their own general area for leisure, sleeping and bathing needs but they were all inter-house. Dumbledore encouraged interaction between the houses, stating that they were to be individual but not segregated. Despite the inter-house competition, they were all just pieces of a larger team.

'What babble,' Draco muttered to himself as he strutted towards the Great Hall's exit. He preferred to think of it as a hierarchy. The foolish Lions and Badgers would blunder into the warzone while the Snakes stayed behind the scenes, commanding and orchestrating their actions, the Ravens providing research on call. His house was obviously the best, the most essential, the most sophisticated, not that he was _that_ invested in his time here at this school. Hopefully, he would just win Potter's trust quickly, the Dark Lord would come back and Draco could go on to Durmstrang School as he had wanted.

To do that, he had to find Potter. Now was a good chance with the houses intermingling like this. He saw a familiar brown head of hair that resembled a thicket of bushes and identified its owner as that overly-excited Raven. He smirked when he saw that she was alone. That gormless Lion had finally had the sense to ditch her. He'd taunt her if he wasn't on such an important mission.

_There he is._ That unruly mop of hair stuck out easily. Draco surged forwards, flanked by his Snake posse. He almost missed the absence of his two cronies from childhood, Crabbe and Goyle, who would have cut easily through the crowd with their large frames. The two dolts had been far too incompetent to be admitted to the school, however. Even the Order of the Phoenix had standards, it seemed.

'Out of my way,' Draco ordered to the surrounding students, who parted hastily. Already acknowledging the future king of the school, Draco realised approvingly. The commotion caused Potter, who was talking to a group of undesirably ginger boys, to turn around and inflict those startling eyes on him.

Draco's bravado melted away almost immediately; he was immobilised. _Quickly_, _Draco, say something._ Those remarkable emeralds, the same green as his Snakes tie, blinked, giving Draco the briefest of respites. 'You're Harry Potter,' Draco burbled and mentally slapped his forehead.

Potter arched an eyebrow. 'Yes,' he said in an understated tone.

This infuriated Draco, and he was painfully aware of his Snake colleagues waiting expectantly behind him. While it wasn't a pleasant sensation, it allowed Draco to regain some of his self-importance. 'My name's Malfoy,' he announced, stressing the name, 'Draco Malfoy.'

The shortest ginger coughed amusedly from beside Harry, and the taller, identical ones shared cat-like grins. Draco scowled at them. They thought they were so wonderful because they hung around with the Chosen One. Why did Potter socialise with these idiots?

'Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford.'

The redheads were enraged. What surprised Draco more was that Harry seemed angry too, judging by the hard glittering of his eyes. Draco countered the cold stare with the small yet charming smile that he had practised in the mirror. 'You will soon find that some families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.'

He held out his hand, a gentlemanly gesture of friendship. Potter would be a fool not to take it.

But he didn't. Instead: 'I think I can tell the "wrong sort" for myself, thank you,' he said coldly.

Malfoy's hand whipped back to his side as if speed could erase his rebuttal. Determined to maintain at least some dignity before the other Snakes, he hissed. 'I'd be careful, Potter. Unless you're a bit politer, you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them either. Hang around with riff-raff like the Weasleys and it'll rub off on you.'

The smallest Weasel made to charge forward, but Potter stopped him with a hand on his arm. 'Is that a threat, Malfoy?' Potter asked softly.

Draco paled slightly. Such antagonising words would only wedge the two boys further apart, endangering his father's plan. 'A warning,' he countered, sparing a derisive glance to the three ginger Weasels, 'and rightfully placed.'

'You, on the other hand, Malfoy, seem to be very misplaced. These people are my friends, and they don't need a rich family or a pretentious name to be better than you,' Potter said before marching away, three grinning, freckled boys in his wake.

Draco felt horribly chilled, but his cheeks were hot, a pink tinge decorating his pale, patrician skin.

'Well,' Zabini said, 'that went swimmingly.'

'Oh, shut up, Zabini. I hated Potter before anyway,' Draco spat. 'Now I've seen what an arrogant void-brain he is, I want even less to do with him.'

'One of you came across as an arrogant voider in that conversation, and it wasn't Potter,' Nott muttered, but not loudly enough for Draco to hear. The young Malfoy was in quite a dreadful mood.

_Stupid Saint Potter._ _He thinks he's so wonderful and noble, supporting those Weasley urchins. He thinks those Weasels are _better_ than me? I'll show him. I'll prove to him how superior the Malfoys really are. _

In his anger, Draco bumped into a table and had to be steered away by other Snakes. Draco hadn't even been roomed with Potter. Zabini had, a fact that made him gnash his teeth. But the thing that angered him the most was how those green eyes stuck in his mind for far too long, and despite his intense hatred, some part of him had really wanted to be stupid Potter's friend.

…

Harry couldn't believe his luck. People liked him, admired him. He remembered a time when other children were an anomaly, but he had talked to so many people today, all his age and eager to meet him. Of course, it was all a little overwhelming, and most of the flattery embarrassed him, and some of the girls' stares filled him with irrational, hunted fear, but apart from that, Harry felt elated. He felt normal.

In his dormitory, there were four other boys, each from a different house. Harry supposed that this was a tactical move to ensure each house equal favour. The Lion was Ron, the Raven was Terry Boot, who seemed friendly enough, the Badger was Ernie MacMillan, who struck Harry as rather pompous but affable with it, and the Snake was Blaise Zabini, an aloof boy who was even taller than Ron.

'You chemmed up about tomorrow, Harry?' Ron asked, visibly buzzed despite the late hour.

'I still don't really know what to expect,' Harry murmured.

'Well, I don't expect you to have much to worry about, mate,' Ernie said reassuringly. 'You'll be showing everyone how it's done in lessons, I'll bet.'

Blaise Zabini snorted softly from his bed on the furthest side of the room.

'You have something you'd like to say, Zabini?' Ron challenged, but Harry put an allaying hand on his shoulder.

'C'mon, Ron. You heard what Headmaster Dumbledore said. We're all a team here.'

'Then he needs to cooperate too.'

'Give it more than one night,' Terry said with a note of exasperation.

Harry slid off of his bed and, to everyone's surprise, held a hand out to the Snake boy. When the dark-skinned boy looked at it questioningly, Harry said: 'We're all pretty different here, but I don't see why we shouldn't get along because of that. What do you say? Let's make these obligatory hours spent together as straightforward as possible.'

Harry was sure that the boy was considering rejecting the hand, as Harry had rejected Malfoy's. Harry had seen them together, wondered how close they were, if Zabini had any loyalties to the rude blond. Finally, Zabini took the hand and Harry mentally relaxed.

'All right,' Zabini said before glaring scornfully at Ron and getting ready for bed.

Ron spluttered: 'Did you see that, Harry? The spit looked at me like I'm from the slums.'

'The what?' Harry asked amusedly.

'Don't you know what…?' Ron began, before remembering Harry's confinement to the castle. 'Oh, well I'm definitely not from there!'

Terry and Ernie laughed and Harry cracked a smile, not quite sure what to say to that.

…

Hermione sighed. She was sharing a room with two Snakes, another pair of poor representatives for a house which she had begun to dislike as a whole – and rather irrationally too, she scolded herself. It could just be that one group of Snakes that had laughed at her before Dumbledore's speech and had later actually dared to confront Harry Potter, who she still hadn't managed to speak to.#Which was a great shame. From his measured responses to that pale, pointy, awful Snake leader, she gauged that he was intelligent, or at least well-educated, and willing to defend his friends.

Another rally of grating titters pulled her out of her thoughts. The two Snakes, Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson she remembered, were giggling away about petty things. Really, the eve of their first day of school and they didn't even speculate on lessons and teachers. All they talked about was fashion, other students and Harry Potter's eyes. It was almost as if they didn't even care about their education.

Hermione looked at the others girls, Hannah Abbot of the Badgers and Lisa Turpin, a fellow Raven. They both kept to themselves, though Hermione had tried to approach them earlier with added zeal, knowing that she had the chance to craft a new reputation for herself. Neither girl, not even the Raven, had wanted to discuss books or studies, much to Hermione's disappointment.

'And then I reminded her who got in and who failed the entrance test,' Parkinson finished her story smugly.

'As if Bulstrode could ever make it here. I bet she couldn't even get into the _Badgers_,' Daphne agreed with a snicker.

'Excuse me,' Hermione said.

'What?' Parkinson snapped, and Hermione was suddenly struck by her resemblance to a pug.

'Well,' Hermione gathered her courage, 'well I was wondering when you were planning to go to sleep, actually. It's our first day at school tomorrow, and that's rather important, you know.'

They laughed at her, very unkindly. 'Are you actually serious?'

'You should feel privileged to be a part of this school,' Hermione said. 'This is a place for learning.'

'Well obviously for you, since you won't be getting much else out of it, with that bushy rats' nest on your head,' Greengrass, who was blonde and precociously pretty, said.

Hermione turned away from her, masking her stung expression with a cloud of hair. She delved for her treasured copy of "Hogwarts Castle: a history" and disappeared behind it, deciding that she might as well take advantage of the light while the two Snakes insisted on keeping it on.

…

The first year common room was restless the next morning. There were forty students in the year in total and about thirty currently lounging about, all watching a certain dormitory door with various degrees of obviousness. The door to the Chosen One's room finally opened, and Harry's roommates drifted out, each going to join the friends they had made at their house tables. Potter himself was nowhere to be seen.

'Zabini,' Draco hissed as the boy sauntered over, 'did Potter say anything?'

'Like what?' the boy responded flatly as their group headed to the main hall.

'You know, interesting things that…that we can use against him.'

'You have no idea what you're talking about, do you? Did you tell your father that you failed to befriend Potter yet?'

'That was one conversation, Zabini. I can still turn it around.'

'I'd say you obliterated any chances pretty well, insulting his friends.'

'He could do better.'

'Draco, I've spent the whole evening with them. Harry and that uncouth Weasley boy are very close. If you want to make friends with him, you'll have to be nice to Weasley too. Try not calling him a weasel for a start.' Zabini smiled despite himself.

'Why don't you befriend him, then? Spy on him for me.'

'No, I refuse to get involved,' Zabini said offhandedly. 'You got yourself into this Death Eater mess, you can get yourself out. Besides, Potter's all right.'

'All right?' Draco whispered indignantly.

'Yes, not half as bothersome as you set him up to be.'

'So, you won't help me?'

'You're a Malfoy. Malfoys don't need anyone but themselves.'

'Could you at least tell me where Potter is? He wasn't even with the Weasel.'

'Where Potter is? How should I know? He was gone before I even woke up.'

…

Harry eased himself into a series of cool-down stretches and surveyed the vast tract of grass. He had managed a couple of extra laps of this field today, but he didn't know whether to credit it to his increasing stamina or his adrenaline. Since he had awoken at five in the morning, he had been a ball of restless energy and realised that he'd be completely useless in the coming lessons unless he blew off some steam. Leaning against a tree on the outskirts of the forest that encroached the field, Harry stretched his calves out.

What was the time? Could he fit in some of Mad-Eye's drills or perhaps some kihon? Harry retrieved his little solar tablet from his pocket and held it in a patch of light for optimum performance.

'Time,' Harry said.

'Six hours fifteen,' was the tablet's reply.

Breakfast was in two hours. Harry still had loads of time. He would go over some kihon techniques, get himself into the right mindset for school. He would _not_ awol his training and go flying in the crater. Still, Harry's gaze flitted to the area where grass gave way to dust and he knew the rocky ground dipped into that cavernous basin, perfect for flying.

He came out of the shade of the trees, the sun kissing his skin a deeper tan. Harry squinted, not because of the sudden exposure, but because he thought he saw a figure moving about on the opposite side of the grounds. Despite having run for a solid hour, Harry sprinted now, curious to see who besides him was awake at such an hour.

The figure, a boy Harry determined as he drew closer, only noticed him when Harry was about fifteen feet away. The boy stopped whatever he was doing, a fast combination of somewhat familiar motions, took one look at Harry, and tried to back off.

_Oh, no you don't,_ Harry thought. 'Hey, wait.' He closed the gap and clapped a hand on the boy's tense shoulder. 'Wait a moment.'

The boy reluctantly turned to him, and Harry's brow furrowed. There was something familiar about the dark hair, the small build, the overly-fleshy face that hinted at him once being chubby.

'I know you. I've seen you before,' Harry muttered.

'I don't think so,' the boy replied, once again trying to leave. It took more than usual for Harry to hold on. For a boy of lesser height, he was rather strong.

'No, I have… My parents' funeral. Yeah, that's it. I saw you. You were with your parents, and…and your mum hugged me and told me she was sorry. You were there, I remember.'

'You remember something from that long ago?' the boy asked with a strangled tone, a tone that said that he hadn't forgotten either.

'It stayed with me. It just stuck out as really strange, that's all. What's your name?'

'Um.'

Harry really didn't know why the boy was so jittery. Was it his Chosen One status? Was he being rude? Too forceful? He still wasn't really sure how the minds of other children worked yet. 'Sorry.' Harry let go, scratching his hair sheepishly. It really needed to be cut again, he noted absently. Whenever any barber tried to discipline it into a respectable, military haircut, it grew back mutinously fast.

'I'm Neville Longbottom,' the boy finally said in a rush.

'Longbottom. I know that name. Moony, er, that's Professor Lupin mentioned it now and again. Your parents used to work with mine, didn't they?'

For some reason, that made Neville flinch. Harry frowned. Maybe he should give in, leave what he didn't understand alone. 'Neville, why are you so nervous?' he asked anyway.

'I'm not, I'm just…' Neville looked away, and Harry was sure he had seen guilt. Guilt, what would Neville have to be guilty about? 'I'm just sorry for your lot.'

'Oh,' Harry said. He was fairly used to pity, but this ran deeper. Just like Neville's mother's apology had. Neither explained why Neville was so hesitant to be around him.

'Listen, I've finished up here,' Neville said, although Harry was pretty sure that the boy had just arrived. 'So, I'll leave you to it.'

The boy began to dart away, and Harry watched him go, completely at a loss. 'Neville,' he called after him, 'see you around school.'

Neville didn't reply and, if anything, sped up.

'Ok then,' Harry murmured to himself. Maybe he would just go flying after all. He headed off to the crater with a stilted gait.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Since this AU is meant to be set centuries into the forseeable future, I tried to update their language a bit. It is so much harder than it looks! Feel free to tell me whether or not it (or anything else in the chapter/fic) was effective.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry felt wonderfully refreshed after flying and walked into the Great Hall feeling with a buoyant gait. Neville Longbottom was an enigma, but Harry now found himself determined to befriend him. He was fairly certain that the boy was trained, judging from the fluid way he had been moving. Perhaps they could be training partners. They could maybe even spar.

With these sanguine thoughts, Harry piled food from the buffet table onto his plate and made his way over to a waving Ron. He was shocked when a great, silver beard blocked his path.

'Good morning, Harry.' Dumbledore smiled down at him.

'Headmaster,' Harry said slowly.

'I'm afraid that you cannot sit with Mr Weasley at the Lion table every meal.'

'Why?'

'House equality, Harry. As you acknowledged yourself, you are houseless and therefore not able to show particular bias towards any house. How would it look to the other students if you sat at the Lion table every day?'

'It would look like I'm a Lion.' Harry sighed resignedly. 'Or at least that I prefer them over the others. So you want me to sit at a different table?'

'That would be marvellous, Harry. How about if you sat with a different house every day? It would do well to befriend as many students as you can.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Very good. Now, since you sat with the Lions yesterday,' Harry opened his mouth to protest, 'you can sit with the Ravens today.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said, slightly miserably.

He went over to Ron, watching enviously as he, the twins, Dean and Seamus laughed and bantered, and explained the situation as best as he could. Ron nodded, sending him off with a sympathetic pat on the back.

The most familiar person he saw on the Raven table was Terry Boot, who was talking rather animatedly with two other boys. Trying not to look too terrified, Harry approached. Terry's two friends and quite a few others stared unabashedly at him, which did nothing for Harry's confidence, but Terry smiled.

'Harry, what brings you here?' And Harry heard a faint tinge of pride in his voice at being able to address him so.

'Um, do you mind if I sit here?'

''Course not! Yeah, go ahead.' He shuffled over and Harry sat next to him. 'Harry, this is Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner and guys, well, you don't really need to be told, right?'

Harry decided to introduce himself anyway. 'Harry Potter,' he said, reaching over the table to shake hands with each boy in turn.

'Stellar!' Michael grinned.

'Nice to meet you,' Anthony Goldstein said.

The atmosphere at this table was a lot more tranquil and far less rowdy; Harry had to admit to himself that it was a nice change of scenery. He also discovered that he mixed in with the Ravens as well as he did with the Lions if he brought a different side to his personality forward. Smiling carefully, he joined in with the conjectures of what their lessons would be like, assuring them that he was just as in the dark as they were, but still regaling them with information about the professors he knew and their teaching styles. They sucked up his words with an unbridled curiosity that made Harry smile.

At some point, a unified groan came from a place further down the table, drawing Harry's attention. A girl with frizzy, brown hair, as wild as his own Harry mused ruefully, was talking hyperactively to her rather uninterested neighbours.

'And my score was 53% Raven, 3% Badger, 12% Snake and 32% Lion, isn't that odd? I never really considered myself that brave before, but then it makes you wonder, doesn't it? I mean, I've always focused on my intelligence, almost defined myself by it, and gave little thought to my other attributes. But that simulation was fascinating. I wonder if there's a way to find out more about how it works, I mean, there's got to be. All I know is that apparently, having an aptitude for three houses is rare, even though the Badger percentage is quite small. Usually houses you don't suit are a decimal value between 0 and 1, but…'

'Bloody hell,' Harry said, quoting Ron. 'She talks a lot, doesn't she?'

'That's Hermione Granger,' Michael told him in a weary tone. 'She's "_so excited to be here"_.'

'She's…intense,' Terry added.

'More like a scoffer and a net-brain and really pushy,' Anthony scowled darkly.

'Ant's a bit upset because she corrected him on chemical compounds,' Terry told Harry confidentially.

'It was none of her business,' Anthony defended. 'We weren't even talking to her. She just barged in!'

His rant would have continued if the chatter in the Great Hall wasn't quieting down. Dumbledore was standing up at the teacher's table, commanding silence with a benevolent sweep of the hall. 'I'm afraid that the time for learning is upon us.'

He was met by equal amounts of groans and excited whispers.

'Pull out the solar tablets that each of you received upon arrival, and your weekly schedules will appear on them.'

Harry had heard that all students would receive soltabs from Dumbledore, and most of the Ravens dutifully extracted theirs from their schoolbags. Peering more closely at Terry's, he saw that the rectangular tablet was bigger than the one he himself carried in his pocket. Elsewhere in the Great Hall, the majority of Lions were excusing themselves from their tables to go and fetch their solar tablets from their dorms. The girl called Hermione Granger tutted at them before turning her attention to her tablet's screen.

'Solar chemistry with the Badgers, Battle History with the Snakes, Basic Physical Training with the Lions,' Terry was reading out. 'Mathematics…hmm, no other name, must be just Ravens. What've you got Harry?'

Harry brought out his own smaller tablet, not quite sure what to expect, and unlocked it with the pad of his thumb. There was his schedule, and Harry enlarged it with an outward pinch, thinking that he would have to get a tablet with a bigger screen like the others.

'Um,' it showed him the lessons, locations and professors, much like Terry's, but listed two houses instead of one for each, _Because I'm not part of either_. 'I've got Duelling with the Lions and Snakes and then…and then strategy with third year Ravens and Snakes…um, then Basic Physical Training with you and the Lions and marksmanship with second year Badgers and…'

'Hang on, Harry? Second and third years too?'

'It seems so.'

Why should he be surprised? He wasn't really a member of any of the houses, next they'd be telling him that he wasn't really a first year either.

'Well, good luck,' Terry murmured.

'You too,' Harry replied, 'and watch out for the Chemistry teacher, Snape. He harbours grudges very easily, or maybe that's just against me.'

Terry nodded his thanks before bidding him a goodbye: 'See you at lunch.'

Harry headed off in the other direction to find Ron. The smile on his face waned slightly when he saw the redhead, laughing effortlessly with a gaggle of Lions, all matching pink faces and crimson cravats. He almost wasn't sure if he should approach and ruin the atmosphere, but Ron spotted him before he could decide.

'Harry! Where you off to now?'

'Duelling with Professor McGonagall.'

'Me too.'

They grinned brilliantly at each other, and Harry finally remembered that Ron was his best and oldest friend. 'What are you waiting for then?'

'Race you.'

'Obviously, I'll win, Ron. I've lived here for most of my life.'

'Who cares? I've got longer legs. You can count my tail-flares, Harry!'

They tore out of the hall, passing an affronted Hermione Granger and laughing all the way to Duelling Room. Being the only members of the class who actually knew the layout of the school, they were waiting outside class for a good few minutes before the stragglers came through in trickles, noses glued to the school maps shown on their soltabs.

'Ron, hom, that was dark when you ran off and left us. We don't know this school like you,' Dean complained as they trailed down the corridor towards him.

Ron just laughed. 'Sorry.'

Harry tried to look relaxed, smiling at the approaching Lion boys, but while he liked Dean well enough, he hardly knew Seamus, and Neville seemed to be sickened by his presence.

'Harry Potter?' Seamus said. 'Seamus Finnegan, pleased to meet you. My mum didn't really want me to come to this school. She doesn't think You-Know-Who's actually coming back, you know. But I believe you and Dumbledore. Most of us do.'

'Um, thanks.' Harry smiled uncertainly.

'Of course you do,' Ron said. 'Dumbledore told us all the reasons and they make sense. Besides, Dumbledore's the smartest man on the planet. Right, Harry?'

'He's definitely up there,' Harry acknowledged.

The Lion girls didn't talk to him, preferring to hover a few metres away and talk _about_ him. One was pushed forwards by the others and approached Harry, glancing back and giggling over her shoulder. 'Hi, I'm Lavender Brown.'

'Hi,' Harry said, reaching out to shake hands, but Lavender backed away squealing, running to the safety of her friends. 'What just happened?'

'Girls, weirdest creatures on the planet,' Dean said knowledgeably.

'Weirder than Blast-Ended Skrewts?' Harry asked.

'Blast-ended _whats_?'

'You don't want to know,' Harry said, grimacing as he recalled one of Hagrid's more disastrous choices of pets.

'So the Chosen Potter decided to grace us with his presence, did he?'

'Blast off, Malfoy,' Ron said without even needing to turn around.

'It's my lesson too, Weasley. If you could read, you'd see that the schedule says "Lions _and_ Snakes". You're a _Lion,_ and I'm a _Snake_,' he said, his drawl growing increasingly condescending with new sentence. 'On that note, Potter, what on Five are _you_ meant to be?'

Harry was faintly annoyed by the whole display, but beneath it there was an undercurrent of truth. Harry wasn't a Lion or a Snake. He didn't belong to a house. And for a person like Malfoy, surrounded by his band of green Snakes, to highlight this was more than just aggravating, it was isolating.

'Harry's a Phoenix,' Ron said, proud of himself for finally identifying the bird on Harry's crest.

Malfoy looked slightly thrown, probably not expecting that answer, or indeed, any answer. By the time he had formed a retort, the classroom door opened, intercepting him. Professor McGonagall, a woman that Harry had encountered once or twice and deeply feared yet respected, emerged. She silenced them with a brief command and compelled them into a neat line with the power of her gaze alone before letting them enter.

The room had been vastly transformed since the last time Harry had seen it. The cavernous space was divided into two. The first half was a classroom with the obligatory desks, chairs and a large screen at the front, which, upon entering, lay to their left. Most of this area was sectioned off by glass apart from the set of stairs in the centre that led down into the second half of the room; an amphitheatre.

At McGonagall's bidding, the students went to seat themselves. Harry was moving off with Ron to try and find a good seat together when McGonagall stopped him. 'Not you, Mr Potter.'

Again. Again he was pulled away from his friends and thrust in front of everyone. He stood stiffly beside McGonagall as she began her lecture on everything from safety rules to descriptions of the duelling sabres to her expectations of the class. And he wondered why he was up here, being looked at, when he could be over there, sitting in the seat beside Ron that Neville Longbottom had unknowingly usurped.

Draco was listening with surprising intent as McGonagall talked for a good portion of an hour. Duelling was definitely one of the more interesting subjects on the class schedule, and he was sure, what with his quick wits and reflexes, that he would soon rise to the top of the class. Of course, he had never been let near a solar sabre before – they were too heavy and hazardous for a child – but he had practised often enough with mock-ups.

McGonagall finished her lengthy speech, and Draco perked up even further. She was commanding them to stand at the edge of the classroom, beside the glass partition, so that they were effectively looking down on the arena as if from a balcony. Finally! Some actual duelling. He would make Potter regret discarding him like last year's hoverboard.

But it didn't turn out that way. Not at all. After a murmured conversation with McGonagall, Potter descended the stairs, untying his cravat as he went. He shrugged his jacket aside next, leaving just his shirt, and selected one of the solar sabres from a line-up on the wall. To Draco's chagrin, the boy handled it with ease, twirling it now and again as if he had a nervous tic.

Next, McGonagall introduced a man that Draco didn't know but was informed was from the Order of the Phoenix and named Frank Longbottom.

'Eh, that's your dad, isn't it?' Draco heard the Weasel whisper from somewhere to his right. Whoever Longbottom's offspring was didn't reply loudly enough for Draco to hear.

The man also descended the stairs, but he had his own solar sabre, glinting in his belt, and he drew it with practised skill.

'There will be no handling of the solar sabres today, I'm afraid. That will come with the next lesson. Do not expect fantastic results immediately. Duelling is a difficult art to perfect, and the use of solar sabres requires yet more resilience and finesse. However, if you look below, Mr Potter and Mr Longbottom will show you what you can achieve.'

She nodded to them, they nodded back, and Draco fumed. Trust Potter to get the spotlight, to be made the archetype for the other students to follow. All he could hope now was that Potter was defeated swiftly and terribly.

Harry looked up at the Order man, who was at least a foot taller, and they bowed symmetrically. The solar sabres seemed to ignite in their hands, flashing with an odd chemical sheen as the two combatants began to circle each other. Draco watched Potter's face closely, searching it for fear but finding only a cool form of wariness.

Harry attacked first, putting Longbottom on the defensive, but the balance soon shifted until it wasn't immediately clear who had the upper hand. They were both immensely skilled, Draco grudgingly acknowledged. Longbottom had the advantage of height and strength, but Harry was light and speedy and, with his accomplished footwork, made himself a hard target to strike. The children to either side of him were silent as stone, and Draco had to remind himself to breathe now and again after a particularly complex rally.

With a sudden, clever stroke, Harry disarmed Longbottom, and in the next second, the solar blade was centimetres from the man's throat, crackling dangerously. It was an unusual sight, a boy holding a flashing weapon to a grown man's neck. 'Do you yield?' he asked calmly, his breathing only slightly irregular.

'I do,' the man said.

Harry nodded and his blade switched hands so that he could engage the defeated in a handshake.

'That was remarkable swordsmanship for a grown adult,' Mr Longbottom smiled. 'Let alone an eleven year old boy.'

'Thank you,' Harry replied, returning the smile. 'Sirius Black was one of the best. I learnt everything from him.' At this, the smile soured slightly before completely falling from his face.

Mr Longbottom nodded as if he understood, placing his other hand on the boy's shoulder as he had done so many years ago. 'You do right by him. He would be so proud.'

Draco didn't know what they were talking about; he didn't even know that they knew each other. He was soon distracted by the buzzing of the Lions and, to a lesser extent, the Snakes as they discussed the fight. A Lion boy seemed to be the centre of attention.

'Yes, that's my dad,' the boy was saying uncomfortably.

'He's tough!'

'Forget that. Did you see Harry?'

'Ron, you know him. Did you know he could fight like that?'

'He's had all sorts of training,' Ron announced importantly. 'He does martial arts too and shoots guns, and he can do a double backwards flip. He even taught me some.'

The surrounding students were vocal in their approval and had to be silenced with a glare from McGonagall. 'Well done, Mr Potter,' she said into the peace as Harry clambered back up the stairs.

He was assaulted by his classmates, all plying him with rapid fire questions. Draco almost felt sympathy for him at the moment, though it had jealousy and dislike to compete with. And admiration. Of course that had to crop up. He admired Harry Potter. It made Draco feel slightly nauseated to think about it.

The class ended with inevitable homework, which was to recount the safety rules for solar sabres so they didn't maim themselves before they even started facing their opponents. Harry was glad for her brief, no-nonsense dismissal as he headed to the door, hoping to slip out intact and onto his next lesson. As usual, luck was not on his side.

'That was _stellar_, Harry!' Seamus crowed, punching his arm.

'Yeah, com,' Dean added. 'I knew you'd be champ, but still this is a whole new level.'

'I won a duel,' Harry said simply.

'Against an _Order_ member, Harry. And the Order members are always the best,' Ron countered.

'Are we going to be able to fight like that?'

'You dosed on Confundium, Shay?'

'The whole point of that duel was to show you what you could achieve,' Harry quietly pointed out.

'Yeah, but be real here. We wouldn't be able to fight like _that_. I mean, it's not like we're crazily gifted or anything like Harry.'

Harry actually blushed at this. 'I'm not that gifted.' In the face of three sceptical stares, Harry persisted: 'I'm… I'm not. I mean, all my life, that's all I've known. Practise, practise, practise; subject after subject, discipline after discipline. Anyone could do that if they had the training I had. Any kid who's been training as hard as I have could do what I can do. So, you see, I'm not gifted or special, or anything. Anyone could be me.'

'Oh shut up, Harry. Don't ruin our fun,' Seamus said good-naturedly enough.

'Yeah, what if we _want_ to believe you're special?' Dean asked. 'You're meant to be our leader here. You're meant to be able to do things we can't do. That's a stellar thing, Harry. The people at this school are pretty smart, you know, not just the Ravens. And smart people don't follow "Average Joe"s into battle.'

'Duly noted,' Harry replied with a small smile. 'All right, my next class is over this way, so…'

'Wait, Harry? You're not going to the next class with us?'

'No, Ron,' Harry said, smile turning rueful.

'Oh, right, yeah, 'course. Makes sense. Should've figured. Um, see you at…' He was going to say break, Harry knew, or lunch perhaps, but thought better of it. 'Um, well, see you in the common room I guess, after school.'

'Yeah,' Harry said unhappily. 'I guess.'

He arrived at Third Year Strategy in a considerably bad mood and loitered behind his looming classmates, determined not to be noticed. This plan could only go so well.

Immediately, the third years were nudging each other (though a lot more discreetly than Lions) and whispering, the name "Harry Potter" on each of their tongues. Thankfully, this lessened when the door opened and their teacher emerged. He was portly, balding, and reminded Harry strongly of a walrus.

His beady eyes, perfectly honed to detect the extraordinary, found Harry instantaneously. 'Harry Potter, I am honoured.' He waltzed forward with the speed of a much slimmer man, and shook the boy's hand enthusiastically.

'Thank you, professor,' Harry said quietly, noticing how some watched him curiously and others rolled their eyes.

It took a while for the professor (Slughorn, Harry reminded himself) to turn his attention to the rest of the class and gesture them in. Harry wanted to take a seat at the back, but Slughorn insisted that he sit at the front, all the better to be seen. Harry wondered when all of this special attention would die down.

Despite his superficial greeting, Slughorn proved himself to be a good teacher and a cunning tactician who met particularly talented students (namely everybody) with endless zeal. They would play simulations on the interactive tabletops, structuring battalions, artillery and aircraft in a struggle against the computer-generated enemy.

'Very good, Harry m'boy,' Slughorn said with ready fondness when Harry defeated a level of the simulation. _Ron_ _would be good at this_, Harry thought, dwelling on their chess games. _He would be better than me._ He hoped that Slughorn would realise this. After all, Ron was hard-pressed to find praise within his own family sometimes.

The most interesting part of the class, Harry decided, was the people. It was interesting to see the different ways in which the Ravens and Snakes approached the task as if their whole behaviour was dictated by the house they were sorted into. The Ravens were focused, studied each option carefully, drew upon extensive lists of background knowledge. The Snakes were sly, more inclined to surprise and trick, to lie low and then strike with deadly accuracy. Their turns were usually much shorter.

While the Snakes had their turn, the Ravens waylaid Harry, that unbridled inquisitiveness shining through. They talked amicably about books they had read and subjects that interested them. The Snakes, Harry was more wary of, having only encountered Malfoy and Blaise Zabini as prime examples.

They shot him critical glances and guarded stares before one of them braved the distance and sat beside him.

'Adrian Pucey,' he said, offering Harry a hand to shake. 'I saw your manoeuvres back there on the simulation. You know what you're doing. Who taught you?'

'Various members of the Order.' Harry shrugged. 'And you and the other Snakes? It's clear that none of you are novices in the world of strategy.'

At this, the older boy smiled in approval, glancing at a grinning, coffee-skinned girl with neat black hair.

'Well spotted, Potter,' the girl said, moving to lean against the table on Harry's other side. She walked with a grace, Harry noted, that had been trained into her. 'Azra Shafiq,' was the name on the other end of the proffered handshake. 'I must say that I'm pretty impressed with you so far. Reckon we should inform him about us Snakes, Pucey?'

Pucey nodded slowly. 'Yes, why not? Do you know your history, Potter? About how the exodus from the Whole Earth, while led by Merlin the Guide, was facilitated by certain wealthy families and influential figures and how they were later honoured by being awarded positions of power here, on the ES system?'

'Yes.'

'And how some of these came to form the House of Forbears, an esteemed council that works alongside the Ministry to make many significant decisions about our society?'

'My tutors and I have skimmed it, yes,' Harry said, grateful for his unusual education if it meant that he could understand this steady influx of words.

A few of the Snakes sniggered in amusement at this. Harry wasn't sure if they were laughing with him or at him.

'Well, a good measure of the Snakes (not all, but most) are from these families. We're all educated in the subtleties of stratagems and politics.'

'So the simulation placed you all in the house of cunning, the Snakes,' Harry surmised, eyes wide with sudden realisation.

Again, Pucey smirked with approval. 'That's right. Explains things, doesn't it?'

Yes, more than Pucey had initially intended. Harry recollected last night that look of derision the Snake Zabini had shot at Ron. Ron, whose physical features and ratty pyjamas had outlined his family and its poverty. And Malfoy's condescending remarks about the Weasleys. Now he thought about it, while he had seen tentative bonds form between three of the houses in the common room, the Snakes had kept to themselves.

'Do Snakes happen to hold any disregard for families not as well off as theirs? Or is that only certain members?'

'It depends on the family,' another girl volunteered. 'Some are more concerned with the purity of their bloodlines than others.'

'Like the Malfoys?' Harry asked.

It seemed that everything he said was destined to be met by that same smirk of cool regard.

'The Malfoys are a very powerful family but also one of the most bigoted,' Pucey said. 'There is strong evidence that they were very involved with You Know Who,' he added, watching for Harry's reaction.

Knowing this, Harry didn't betray anything like anger, smirking coolly as if he were a Snake. 'I didn't much like the son anyway.'

Some of the Snakes laughed, others looked wary or slightly ruffled. Harry looked among them and weeded out the Malfoy sympathisers.

'I don't think many will like him once the little fool is done,' Shafiq said, tone light and joking enough. 'He's very vocal for an heir, very good at making enemies instead of allies.'

'Some people will stay by him regardless because of his name,' Pucey snorted dismissively.

'Well, that's his only creditable attribute right now,' Shafiq replied, and Harry grinned in amusement. The girl was right.

'I don't think most of the student body are very taken with us Snakes anyway,' another boy said uncaringly.

Harry had suspected as much from his minimal chance at observation, but he wanted to hear the reasons from one of them. 'Why do you think that is?'

'We're sickly, slimy, poisonous snakes,' Shafiq hissed, wiggling her fingers at a giggling Harry.

'Snakes aren't slimy,' Harry protested.

'But we are, apparently. Our values unsettle them. Ambition, cunning, thirst for power. Not as noble as bravery or loyalty,' Pucey mused. 'And the fact that most of us seem to look down on them probably makes them feel second-rate.'

'Probably,' Harry agreed, mock-seriously.

'You,' Pucey grinned, shoving Harry's shoulder in the most un-Snake-like way.

'And with people like Malfoy serving as our ambassadors, we can say goodbye to any positive publicity,' Shafiq said airily.

'That doesn't seem to bother you very much,' Harry pointed out.

'Let's just say that this inter-house fraternisation that the headmaster is championing isn't something that the Snakes particularly care for.' When Harry frowned, Shafiq continued. 'That isn't to say that we dislike members of the other houses, just that we don't find it essential to talk to them.'

'I see,' said Harry.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Yes, "bloody hell" still made it into the pseudo-futuristic vernacular. It is an irreplaceable part of Harry Potter culture!

Thank you, Pawsrule. Harry and Hermione's relationship will be slow-burning, but hopefully you'll find it worth it in the end.

Fun fact: In canon, the Shafiq family is one of the "Sacred Twenty-Eight", the 28 truly pureblood lines according to some bigoted book. I wonder what happened to them. Also, Azra Shafiq used to be a boy called Qadir. I much prefer her as a girl!

Reviews are always welcome.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten calls for a** Disclaimer refresher: **I do not own Harry Potter... That is all.

* * *

><p>Harry was late to morning break, having been engaged in conversation with the Snakes to the point where he forgot time. They humoured him and his different ideals and, to some extent, accepted him into their selective group. Particular Snakes, such as Adrian Pucey and Azra Shafiq, Harry could see becoming valued friends.<p>

Harry and the Raven table were like ships passing in deep space. He only got back for enough time to stuff some sort of meat pie into his mouth before heading off to his next lesson with Terry.

'Basic Physical Training,' Michael muttered, checking his timetable again as they loitered outside the classroom. 'What's that all about?'

'If it's anything like I think it is, it will be very thorough,' Harry said.

'What is that supposed to mean?' Michael asked, sounding preoccupied.

Before Harry could reply, a rather strident, high-pitched voice seized his attention. 'Well, obviously we can't just go in and expect to become a master at combat. There's much more to martial arts than learning moves. You have to have discipline, stamina and control.'

The owner of that voice was the bushy-haired girl that stood behind him, large brown eyes bright with enthusiasm. When his attention fell to her, she rocked forward onto her toes, as if trying to match their eye-levels. 'Harry Potter.'

'Hermione Granger,' Harry answered, trying not to sound too reluctant.

A fleeting widening of the eyes was the only sign that she was not expecting this quick identification. The expression dissolved almost immediately. Harry had to admit that he was impressed.

This feeling of respect soon gave way to disbelief as she lectured Harry on the details of his own life, retold in the detached manner of an academic, but with the zeal of one passionate in their subject. Harry was grateful when their classroom door swung over to admit them.

The Snakes, though late in arriving, jostled to the front of the queue, puffing their chests as if they were birds instead. Rolling his eyes, Harry waited with his Raven friends before entering. There wasn't a teacher in sight, and the students relaxed. All of them except for Harry began to chatter among themselves, commenting on the irresponsible tardiness of the professor or the prospect of a free lesson period. Harry's eyes flicked restlessly around the room before centring on an inconspicuous potted plant. He grinned. The plant was harmless; the person hidden behind it wasn't.

A water-filled balloon sailed from the spot, catching the students unawares and quite a few of them in its impacting spray. Another followed and the crowd was havoc, running around, trying to avoid the missiles and spot their attacker. Harry, having successfully avoided the volleys, now stood at the side, waiting for the firing to stop and Moody to emerge.

The man hobbled out from behind the plant when he ran out of ammunition, surveying the mob of soaking and snivelling children with his one good eye. The man looked very displeased. _But then_, Harry thought, _that is his natural expression_.

'Enough!' Mad-Eye Moody barked, and the whining died out quickly. The pupils nervously took in their new teacher. He looked the archetypal war veteran, one-eyed, one-legged, and with a face that looked as if it had been gouged into by a student carver with his first block of wood. A chunk of his nose was missing. 'It's just water, children. Nothing to screech about. You could've been in a much worse state if I had malicious intent.

'Someone tell me the first rule of being a soldier,' he demanded, with a voice the texture of wood grain.

A few hands rose but not as briskly or confidently as that girl Hermione Granger's.

'You.' Moody nodded at her.

'Listen to your superiors,' she said.

'A rule, but not the first.'

'Kill your enemies,' Malfoy said, smirking at Harry.

'Again, important, but not the most important. Potter.'

Everyone looked to Harry, and he groaned to himself. 'Constant vigilance, sir,' he enunciated.

'Indeed, Potter. And coincidentally, Potter was the only one of you sorry lot who stayed on his guard the whole time instead of nattering like nitwits. He is also the only one of you who is warm and dry. Now, he has the excuse of being taught by me for years, but this first rule is something that you need to grasp immediately. Constant vigilance. We are on the verge of war. Never presume an area is safe until you have checked; that could be your downfall.'

Hermione's hand shot up again with solar speed.

'Yes…'

'Hermione Granger,' she announced. 'Excuse me, professor, but surely there was no reason to be vigilant in that situation. This is a classroom, a school, with trusted teachers. No one would dare harm us here.'

There was a general buzz of agreement.

'You'd be surprised. The most dangerous enemy is one hidden in plain sight. You were just a tiny child during the First War. There were spies and impersonators crawling through our ranks. You'd be surprised by how easy it is for them. Don't make it even easier by not paying attention. You have to have constant vigilance.'

Seeing that his students were suitably chilled, he dismissed them to change into their practical uniform.

'A bit harsh, don't you think, Professor? With the water,' Harry asked as the children divided by gender to enter separate changing rooms.

'But the lesson will stay with them longer. The uniform will dry, yes, but it will be harder to forget that freezing, sodden feeling on their "delicate" skins.'

'Let's hope that's all they will have to remember,' Harry muttered as he left to get changed himself. A water balloon whistled towards him from behind, but Harry leaned to the left and the disaster was averted.

'Not bad, Potter,' Moody called after him. 'Not bad.'

Not long later, the pupils were shivering in their light practical wear: a tank top, loose black trousers and combat trousers. A few girls managed to find the energy to titter appreciatively at Harry's defined biceps. Trying not to roll his eyes, Harry chose a position towards the back next to a jittery Michael Corner.

'Ok, Mike?' Harry asked, testing out the name he had heard others call him.

'Yeah, 'm fine.'

'Don't worry about Professor Moody. He might seem tough, but he's never mean,' Harry lied.

Michael nodded, managing a wan smile.

'This Order of the Phoenix School was made to turn you into able soldiers. You can't be a soldier if you can't fight, and you can't fight when you're out of shape, badly coordinated and afraid of pain.' His one-eyed stare travelled from face to petrified face, sizing up the potential. 'This class will be dedicated to forming your foundations as good soldiers: strength, endurance, keen reflexes, perseverance. Be prepared to sweat, to ache, to bleed.'

The unease was tangible amongst the cluster of recruits. Moody laughed, humourlessly.

'No need to act worried. It'll be good for you. Follow me.'

Moody, it was made apparent, was also looking out for compliance and efficiency when it came to following orders. The children's sloppy attempt at following him led to a lot of collisions and trampled feet. Lecturing and directing them until they could fall neatly into line ate ten minutes out of the training time.

Their professor made up for it when they left through the back door and onto the biggest of training fields. The one Harry ran laps around every morning. Glancing around at the twitchy pupils, he wondered ruefully how many of them would survive the first lesson.

...

'That was _torture_,' Anthony moaned as he eased his aching joints into the right position for his newly-dried school shirt.

'I can't feel my legs,' Terry said bluntly, emerging from the showers with a slight limp. 'Or my arms. Harry didn't even sweat,' he added, with a crooked grin.

'I'm used to it,' Harry said, swinging his legs on the bench, leading the other boys to envy his spare energy. 'You'll get used to it too.'

But he let them moan. He knew that they partly enjoyed whinging about their teachers. The boys seemed to find solace in their shared agony.

'It was sort of worth it, though,' Michael said. 'Just to see Granger struggling. This has got to be the only thing she's not good at!'

'Yeah.' Anthony looked heartened at this, and Terry hid a snicker. 'Her red face made my day.'

'All of your faces were red,' Harry pointed out.

'Shut up, Harry.' Anthony threw his stinky towel at Harry's head, but the boy simply caught it. 'Damn! You're no fun.'

'Malfoy and his pampered, snaky commies weren't looking so bright either,' Terry whispered, nodding over at the blond, who was too tired to insult anyone he deemed unworthy.

'No,' Harry said neutrally. Malfoy had been all right at the start, but as soon as the course involved crawling forward in the mud, the boy had adamantly refused and been promptly chased by Moody (who was a lot faster than he looked) for twenty minutes.

Draco scowled as the Chosen One walked past him, looking clean and unruffled and ready to endure that awful ordeal at least five more times. _There goes perfect Potter,_ he thought, but when Potter turned to face him, he realised that he had said it aloud.

'I suggest that you rest, Malfoy, if that's the best you can come up with,' Potter said in that irritatingly mellow voice.

The Ravens behind him cheered and laughed while one of them patted Potter on the back.

'I can match you any time, tired or not. And I'm not even that tired.' That sounded a lot less remarkable once it had left his mouth. _Quickly, think of something cutting_. 'After that _ever-so-impressive _show on the field earlier, it's even clearer that they chose you for your brawn, not your brains.'

The Snakes around him smirked, and Draco fed off of it, drawing himself up to a more imposing height.

'It's possible to have both, Malfoy. Not that you would know, since you appear to have neither.'

'Another point to Harry,' another of the Ravens hooted, and Draco really couldn't remember his name because they were all so mousy and unremarkable and similar. Potter stuck out like a sore thumb.

'There went another chance,' Zabini informed Draco. As if he didn't know. 'What are you going to tell your father when he asks of this?'

Draco stormed away, legs slightly wobbly with the aftershock of exercise. He didn't have to answer Zabini, or anybody.

...

Marksmanship with the diminutive Professor Flitwick wasn't anything new. Harry was used as a demonstrator once again, wielding his Ollivander gun and shooting targets for the gaping second years. He gladly left for lunch where he sat at the Raven table, listening to his friends enthuse about their Maths lesson. He didn't pay any mind to what he had after lunch until, with about five minutes left, he glanced down at his solar tablet.

The last two-hour slots had been merged into one and labelled with only two words. Meeting Room. No subject, no teachers, no houses. Frowning, he slipped his soltab back into his bag. He wondered.

It took him longer than he had first anticipated to find that room. It was on the top floor, where students seldom tread, far removed from the rest of the school. There was a different air about this storey. The floor was wooden instead of stone and carpet-draped; the identical doors were dark mahogany, only one of them had "Meeting Room" engraved into its bronze plaque. Harry knocked and waited, trying not to fidget as his edginess betrayed him.

'Come in.'

Harry recognised the voice before he opened the door. 'Kingsley?' he asked as he poked his head through.

He immediately calmed as he saw the benign man seated behind a sleek and minimalist desk. As the man surveyed Harry, his eyes winked fondly from within his ebony face. 'Hello, Harry, how are you?'

'I'm fine, thank you, how are you?' Harry grinned as he shut the door behind him.

Kingsley gestured to the seat across from him and Harry sat, dropping his school bag to the floor. 'I'm marvellous.'

Kingsley Shacklebolt was a member of the Order that Harry had met on more than one occasion. He had taken an instant liking to the man, never failing to be soothed by his rich, earthy voice. It was because of Kingsley's gracious disposition that he was a much-admired ambassador for ES-5.

'Are you going to be my teacher, Kingsley?' Harry asked.

'Yes.' The man smiled. 'Headmaster Dumbledore requested me especially for a two-hour long session, every week.'

'He did? What are we going to learn?'

'You have been training very hard, Harry, for most of your life. You are an excellent soldier. It is time for you to move on, to become an excellent leader.'

Being a leader was just as difficult as it had sounded to Harry in the first place. He had to be confident. Harry wasn't confident, not in that way. He was sure in his ability to hit a moving target at long range or fight multiple opponents at the same time, but away from the training rooms, in habitual life, attention made him nervous, admiration embarrassed him. He wasn't confident in himself.

He had to be charming. He had to get people on his side and keep them there, loyal not just to the cause but to him. And he had to be persuasive. He had to speak the right words in the right tone of voice with the right gestures. It made Harry's head swim. Public speaking, public relations, Kingsley reminded Harry that the eyes of the world would be on him, increasingly so as he got older and more active in the campaign against He Who Must Not Be Named. So much to think about.

Trying to eat dinner was a lost cause. Looking around at the mass of students and imagining himself leading them into battle made him feel slightly queasy. He escaped the Great Hall before the meal was officially over and decided to visit Remus, who wasn't due to teach martial arts to the masses until they had grasped Basic Physical Training.

Remus was calming and supportive, though not as warm as Harry remembered he used to be, or as alive. Harry had lost Remus the same time as he had lost Sirius, the man having to turn to stone in order to be Harry's pillar of strength. With each year, the man was worn down, becoming thinner and paler and then greyer. Harry didn't know why, only that it was more than just about Sirius.

After Remus, he visited Hagrid, who had now become the gamekeeper for Hogwarts and lived near the Forest, using his advantageous position to smuggle questionable creatures into the woods. Harry was pretty sure that this was why Dumbledore had banned student access to it. Hagrid was hearty and gregarious, treating Harry to some inedible food and slapping Harry on the back with a cavernous hand. 'Yeh'll be great, 'Arry,' he said. 'Yeh always are.'

Yes, he was such a perfect student, such a good Chosen One. Always doing as he was told. Students passed him in the halls on the way to the common room, greeting him enthusiastically. He'd take charge over them one day. It was his destiny. His destiny never failed to make him sick.

'Harry, over here.' Harry didn't know why he always felt so relieved when Ron met him with a smile, as if one day, he wouldn't.

'Ron.'

The redhead was sitting with the other Lions, playing a game of chess with Seamus. Harry's smile faltered slightly. That was his and Ron's thing.

'Help me win?' Ron offered.

'No fair, Ron,' the sandy-haired boy protested.

'You don't need any help,' Harry added.

'Fine,' Ron said good-naturedly. 'Oh yeah, Harry. Did you see the notice board? They're starting team Quidditch! We'll blast 'em out of the sky.'

'Ron,' Harry reprimanded, but his grin ruined it.

He sauntered up to the notice board and watched the chemicals crawl across the screen as the notices changed. Ah, there it was, the Quidditch notice. He scanned it quickly, and his smile disappeared completely.

'Exciting, right?' Ron asked as Harry went to sit down, missing the stormy look on his face.

'I can't do it.'

'What?'

'It's inter-house. I don't have a house.'

'Oh.' Ron's mouth twisted as the boy debated on what to say next. 'Well, we could still play in our spare time. Bet lots of people would want to play, yeah?'

'Yeah,' Harry replied, face clearing.

Draco read the letter four times before slipping out of his immobilised state. He should have considered the fact that his father would want updates on his relationship with Potter… but certainly not its non-existence. Yes, it included the standard inquiries into his health, but most of the letter was dedicated to Draco's performance.

He set his tablet down and twirled his pen. Should he lie? He never lied to his father; he was physically incapable. But he had also never been able to test this different, indirect medium.

_Dear father_, Draco wrote onto the tablet which logged his neatly-curling script, _I am well thank you, and I hope that I find you well also. _

_You were correct in your prediction that Potter would not be able to refuse a Malfoy's hand of friendship. He leapt at the opportunity and we have become fast friends, at least, that is what he believes. Your brilliant plan should indeed succeed. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Draco._

In the dormitory a few doors down, Harry Potter was caught in the throes of yet another nightmare.

...

'Mummy?' Harry was small in this dream, his little hands clumsy around the solar gun. It took more of him to lift it; he did not dare to fire it. It was too dark to distinguish between friends and death eaters, and his only weapon was an alien mass in his hands. 'Mummy?'

His voice echoed, desolate and unanswered. If he had any company in this dark world, it wasn't living, breathing. Harry's foot sank into human flesh. He screamed like the child he was and fell back, his gun skittering into shadow and disappearing. Hands scrambled to search for it but found only limbs and faces of the dead. There was his father, so much smaller and paler as a bloody corpse; there was Sirius, a bark of laughter immortalised on his face in a stiff caricature; there was his mother, blossoming with gun wounds as red as her hair. He pushed her away. He couldn't save her, and she couldn't save him. The only thing that could save him was that ill-fitting gun.

There it was! It was snug in the red-eyed death-bringer's hands. Was it his? No, it was Voldemort's. The gun that killed his parents was now turned to him. This time he could finally die.

'_No, I've changed my mind.'_

Voldemort receded, but Harry sensed that he was still there, lurking beyond Harry's table. Table? Harry looked down to find his hands, only slightly larger now, resting on a wooden surface, wrists strapped to it.

This was real. Harry remembered this moment. But why was Voldemort here?

'_Be still, Harry_. _This is for your own good.'_

Whose voice was that? It was a voice he'd lived with for most of his years. Voldemort had a syringe filled with a colourless substance. '_Imperium,_' he said in that voice that wasn't his, '_diluted, of course. As your resistance increases, you will be injected with a stronger dose._'

Harry struggled.

'_Now, Harry, you must think of your future. There may come a time when you will need to fight against this. Why not learn now, while you are young and growing in strength? This is for your own good.'_

'My own good,' Harry whispered.

Voldemort plunged the syringe into Harry's forearm, and the boy screamed, thrashing against his bonds as the Imperium bled through his veins like acid, consumed his mind.

_Fight_.

Harry knew pain, but nothing like this. Nothing that had forced him to eject himself from his own body rather than battle to keep control of it.

_Fight._

Ok, he'd try. He'd contend the Imperium for every bitter inch of his mind. It was his. It had its light and its shade and too many bad thoughts to count, but it was his. And he shouldn't have to fight for it, hurt for it.

'_Jump on the table_.'

When did Voldemort become Dumbledore, watching with a grim, rapt expression? When did Moody and Moony and Snape start lurking? Maybe it didn't matter. It fit what he remembered more.

'_Jump on the _table_,' _Moody ordered, cutting his bonds.

_Fight_.

Harry's blood seared, his joints felt as if they were tearing apart, even as they moved of their own accord.

_Fight_.

'Jump on the table.'

_Fight._

Harry was going to jump. Harry stopped himself. He half-leapt, slamming his knee on the desk, and fell onto his back. He hardly felt the collision; it was nothing compared to the Imperium, circulating his body in torturous pulses.

'You're worthless,' Moody said over him. 'The Dark Lord will make short work of you.'

'Voldemort will kill you.' Dumbledore stood above him too.

And Remus. 'Your parents died for you, for this.'

And Snape. 'For nothing.'

And the whole school. All the faces he had ever known, looking down. Harry lay and shivered and convulsed on the floor, looking back. Voldemort was there, and he said, _'I want it to be slow. I want to see the light leave his eyes. I want to feel the life pour out of his feeble little body._' The faces above Harry agreed. Suddenly, they all had arms, and a thousand of hands rained down to smother Harry to death.

...

When Neville found Harry lying in the middle of the training field the next morning, he dithered. So far, he had managed to avoid the boy. He should retreat, slowly, but there was a certain stillness about Harry that disturbed him.

'Harry?' Neville called out uncertainly, and when Harry didn't even stir, he scampered forward. 'Harry? Harry!' He was dead! The Chosen One was dead. All the poor hom's misery for nothing. He didn't even get to kill the Dark Lord.

'Ow,' Harry winced, and Neville's knees almost gave way.

'You're alive.'

'Wha…?' The boy-who-wasn't-dead sat up slowly, pinching his nose. 'Of course I'm…Neville, you're so loud.'

'Sorry. I thought you were dead.'

'I figured. Too bad that it takes that extreme for you to talk to me.'

Neville shifted uncomfortably, setting one foot behind the other in preparation to run. However, his conscience kicked in when he saw Harry's red eyes and sallow skin. 'What happened?'

'Nothing. Just didn't get a lot of sleep. Nightmares,' the Chosen one said rather airily. 'I get them sometimes. You never really get used to them.'

'Sorry,' Neville repeated.

'It's not your fault,' Harry dismissed, getting to his feet and brushing himself down.

'It is,' Neville blurted out.

Harry raised an eyebrow expectantly, as if waiting upon what would surely be a ludicrous answer.

'The prophecy, it wasn't about you.'

'Of course it's about me.' There was no bitterness, just the clinical recital of hard facts. 'If it wasn't about me then all of this wouldn't be happening. I wouldn't have been trained so hard and had a school built up around me.'

'Ok, the prophecy is about you now, but it wasn't made with you in mind. It talked about someone born at the end of the seventh month, July, to parents who, um, defied the Dark Lord three times.'

'Which I was and they did,' Harry said.

'Yeah but, so was I. I mean, my birthday's on the 30th, the 30th of July, and my parents escaped the Dark Lord three times too.'

Whatever retort Harry had been planning dissipated, leaving Harry's mind an empty, echoing chasm. 'What?'

'The Chosen One could've been me, just as much as it could've been you. It could've been me in your place all this time. Me who lost my parents, me with the responsibility of saving this world.'

No matter how many times Neville managed to rephrase it in the space of one breath, Harry still couldn't quite grasp the idea. That he hadn't been the only option, that he'd had a chance at a normal life, that he could have escaped being the Chosen One.

'Are you sure you're not in the Badgers?' Harry breathed after a while. 'You've got the honesty part covered.'

Neville wasn't finished. 'Both of our parents knew about the prophecy. They both knew that the Dark Lord could come after us and cause the family he found first a lifetime of misery. My parents loved yours, I promise. They really did. They were friends since school, they were Order members together since then. But every night, they would pray that he would find you and spare me. Every night. They didn't care what happened to the Potters unless I was safe. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.'

Now Harry understood. The funeral: the true guilt, the fervent apologies, Neville's avoidance. 'Well, they got what they wanted,' Harry said hollowly.

'And they're still grieving,' Neville replied. 'And so am I.'

'You didn't know them.'

'I grieve the idea of them, the potential. I miss meeting them; I miss going around their house all the time; I miss growing up with you, as friends. I miss seeing my parents truly happy, ok with themselves again. Wishing for the death of your dearest friends, and it happening, I could never begin to imagine what that feels like.'

'Well, parents would do anything to make sure their child is safe. No matter the expense.' Down to the last moment, his parents had died fighting for him. His mother's last words had been to beg for him, her last act to shield him from the bullets with her own body.

'I wish they didn't. I'm sorry, Harry, I really am.'

'Neville.' He raised his voice, giving Neville no room to answer. 'It's not your fault, ok? It will never be your fault. You will always be your parents' priority, and you should be grateful for that.'

'I am.'

'They did what they had to, which wasn't much. Ultimately, it was Voldemort's choice that doomed my parents, not the Longbottoms'.' Harry noticed with approval that Neville didn't flinch at the Dark Lord's chosen name. 'While their remorse can't change what has already happened, it shows that they are better people than Voldemort will ever be. I'll forgive them. I'll never be able to forgive Voldemort for what he's done, but I can forgive them. And we can still be friends, grow up together.'

Neville fell to his knees. Beneath his polished veneer of training, he was a clumsy boy. He grabbed at Harry's shirt front, causing the rather bemused Harry to stumble forward. 'Thank you,' Neville said. 'You're so good. You don't deserve this. I'm sorry.'

'That's enough, Neville,' Harry said patiently.

'You're going to be a great leader someday, Harry. You'll beat Voldemort and I'll follow you. I promise, I'll follow you.'

_And that is how you gain loyalty,_ a voice in Harry's head that sounded suspiciously like Kingsley's said. He still didn't know quite what he had done to provoke Neville's actions, and so he didn't quite know how to react to them either, apart from to say: 'Are you _really_ sure you're not a Badger?'

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Moody is fun to write, so are psychological nightmares. I'll leave you with that telling insight into my author mentality.

Thank you for all the support so far. The followers, reviewers, favourite..rs, you know who you are. Hermione-lovers can expect her to feature very heavily from now on.


	11. Chapter 11

Thank you everyone for the great response to the previous chapter! As promised, more Hermione.

* * *

><p>For the majority of pupils, it was not long before their rough edges were smoothed enough for them all to fit into place. Tentative bonds formed between the houses even as the competition for house points soared and Quidditch tournaments began. Harry was one of the main links, free from the boundaries of each house but welcome in each one. People who would have never interacted met through him. In the first year common room, what had once been four distinctly-coloured clusters had become an intermingled mass of blues, reds and yellows, with the occasional green.<p>

Harry was, dare he say it, truly content. It never bothered him now that he couldn't stay at the Lions' table. Ron was no longer his lifeline. Of course, he valued his first friend above all others, but Harry had a class at least twice a week with every single student at the school, and he was trying his best to know all of them.

When he did sit with Lions, he enjoyed the company of Ron and his mob of raucous friends (which included Neville), but he just as often sat with the third years, sandwiched between the cackling Weasley twins. At the Ravens' table, he flitted between the year groups, listening to debates and sometimes, if he was brave enough, contributing. On the Badgers' table, he commanded the attention and loyalty of the first and second years while a boy with copper hair and a charming grin did the same with the third years. How that boy managed to win the adoration of his peers without the persuasive title of "Chosen One" was something that Harry knew he would have to learn. At the Snakes', he avoided his own year on principle, sitting with Pucey, Shafiq and the other third years.

Lessons progressed at a brisk pace, leaving no room for students to get comfortable or complacent as they improved. As soon as they were doing well at Basic Physical Training, Professor Lupin was introduced into their training scheme as a hand-to-hand combat teacher. Extra sessions were put aside for first aid classes from Madame Pomfrey. As well as his standard lessons and the private sessions with Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry also had some periods set aside for individual study and exercise. Harry didn't even consider relaxing. Instead, he threw himself into practising martial arts drills or gymnastics or solar sabre-play.

Third years, who got one free session a week, gradually learnt of Harry's practices and, instead of lazing around their common room, gravitated over to watch. Harry, while terribly embarrassed at first, came to tolerate it. And when they gingerly offered to take part, he began to duel with them and to teach them until he reached a point when he was no longer surprised when these older boys and girls rushed to meet his demands. Apart from the Snakes, of course, who sauntered instead with little smirks on their faces.

Yes, everything was falling into place. Everyone was forming a close circle of friends for themselves. Harry had never been happier. Hermione was disappointed all over again.

She had never found making friends easy. Watching everyone laugh and joke in the Great Hall wasn't fresh enough an experience for it to hurt deeply, but it ached a dull, prolonged ache that she was perfectly accustomed to. She really had tried this time. She had thought that, away from small town prejudices and the stigma her academic superiority created, she would finally be able to branch out, to be a new and wonderful person that everyone wanted to be around. But maybe it really was just her.

Glancing along the table, it wasn't the first time she wondered how all the other children had the secret. She was sure there had to be some sort of secret. Some formula to making friends that everyone knew apart from her. It was hard enough admitting that she didn't know something, but she could think of no other explanation. She sighed. They didn't know how blessed they were. They really didn't.

She got up to leave. She never stayed at the table to the end of dinner. It was never worth it. No one spoke to her, and when she tried to speak to them, they would shy away frantically. Walking along the aisle was the worst part. Usually, she managed to get a seat on the other side of the table, but occasionally she was forced to sit on the side flanking the Snakes'. She kept her head down as she scurried out, hoping that a particular group of Snakes wouldn't notice her.

'Look who's off by herself again.'

_Keep walking, Hermione._

'Where're you off to, Granger?'

They'd moved to block her path. To look for a way out meant that she had to look up at them. The first year Snakes. The speaker was Malfoy, always Malfoy.

'Off to meet someone?' another suggested.

'Don't be ridiculous, Nott, you know she hasn't got any people to meet.'

They laughed, Hermione began to walk back the way she came.

'Where are you going, Granger?'

Hermione tried to shake it off. It was nothing personal. She was just another easy target, and Malfoy had a daily quota of teasing and humiliation to fill.

'Going to cry to someone?'

'Who would she cry to?'

'A teacher.'

'She loves teachers. Too bad they're the only ones who love her back.'

'Not even Saint Potter will talk to you.'

'He doesn't particularly like you either,' Hermione finally snapped.

She didn't know why he paled at this. Whatever the reason, Malfoy was truly angry now.

'You think you're so smart,' he said, loudly enough to draw the attention of all those around him. 'Too bad that's all you've got. What's the point of brains when you've got no friends? What's the point of brains when you've got buck teeth and scruffy hair? What's the point of brains when you're poor and insignificant? You are _nothing_, Granger. And no-one wants to be friends with _nothing_.'

Hermione almost crumpled on the spot. He was right, wasn't he? She looked around the room. No-one protested, they just looked at the both of them stonily. She couldn't face their hard stares any longer. She whipped her head the other way to see Harry Potter, standing up from his bench, deep green eyes wide as they gazed at her. She couldn't take their brilliance. She pushed past Malfoy and ran.

…

'Harry, where are you going?' Ron asked as Harry climbed off of the bench, his half-eaten dinner abandoned on the table.

'That girl, Hermione, she ran out. I-'

'Harry, it's probably fine. She was itching on everyone for being such a talk-all anyway.'

'Malfoy went too far, though.'

'Yeah, Malfoy was a real spit to her, but maybe she'll stop being so loud. Maybe he's done her good somehow.'

'We still should follow her, make sure she's ok. I have this bad feeling…'

'About what, com? Hogwarts Castle is completely safe, right? She's probably just gone to hide in a girls' toilet or something. That's what they usually do.'

'Yeah, I guess,' Harry said.

'C'mon, they've just put out some treacle tart. Your favourite, right?'

'Yeah.'

…

Hermione ran around the track until she was hot and sweaty. She didn't know how people like Harry could run for so long in such heat. She had overheard him once saying that exercise cleared his head. _Some methods,_ she thought to herself,_ do not work for everyone. _

She looked up and spied the forest. It was a dark mass on the horizon; the trees looked marvellously cool. She turned to her other side where the castle lay. She was beginning to hate that place. She didn't want to go back, not yet. Getting up cautiously, she made her way to the forest, faintly aware of the rules prohibiting student entrance. She was usually a stickler for the rules, but exhaustion and misery had a way of changing people.

…

'She's not in the Common Room, Ron.'

'Who? Wait, you're _still_ thinking about Granger, Harry?'

'I don't like this, not at all.'

'She could be in her room.'

'With a bunch of roommates that she hates?'

'Huh?'

Things clicked into place. 'She hates it here. Why would she take refuge here? Why would she go and hide among the very people who shun her?' He wouldn't. He would get as far away from them as possible. Like at the funeral, with all those stifling people. He'd wanted to get away. He'd wanted space.

'We've got to find her.'

'Harry.'

'Now, Ron.'

Faced with blistering green eyes and Harry's fire, Ron had no choice but to submit. 'Ok, but when we find her crying in the toilet, you'll never get so nervy again.'

…

The forest was beautiful in the sunset, the trees and leaves embroidered with amber sunlight. It was so peaceful here. No people, just the unobtrusive sound of nature's bustling insects. She wished that she had brought a book to read in the ethereal, orange light. Something cracked behind her, too loudly to sound natural.

What was that?

Hermione fell away from the tree she was leaning against. There was something shifting in the distance. It wasn't human. It wasn't one of nature's bustling insects either.

…

'See, she's not out here,' Ron puffed.

He and Harry had run most of the floors in the castle before racing outside. They still hadn't seen hide or frizzed hair of Hermione Granger.

'I bet you she's in her dormitory,' Ron panted, bending over and resting his hands on his knees. 'I bet you.'

Harry was just about to give up when a spine-chilling scream emanated from the forest.

'Hermione!' he yelled, sprinting.

…

A Blast-Ended Skrewt? What was a Blast-Ended Skrewt doing in the forest? She pressed herself further against the tree as the scorpion-like creature herded her in with its monstrous claws. Another rustling to her left. Were there more? Who cared? She was going to die anyway. She would die here, right on the school grounds, and _no-one_ would care.

'Hermione!' The shrubbery to her left waved violently as a figure pushed through them.

'Harry Potter?'

The boy saw her immediately, his countenance concerned but not overly surprised by the sight of the repulsive creature that entrapped her.

'Bloody hell! What is that thing?'

Ron Weasley emerged next, and Hermione's thoughts soured. She had never liked the ignorant, vulgar redhead.

'It's a Blast-Ended Skrewt,' Harry explained before Hermione could, much to her shock. 'They're thought to be distant relatives of the Whole Earth's scorpions, but they're native to this planet. They're usually found in large, open deserts with hostile climates.'

'Then what is it doing in this bloody forest?!'

'It's Hagrid's. He likes collecting…exotic pets.'

'And he keeps them here? I knew the man was dosed, ever since he tried to feed us those _mortal_ rock cakes.'

Hermione raised her eyebrows. She couldn't imagine Ron rejecting any form of food.

'Don't badmouth Hagrid,' Harry said patiently, as if on automatic. 'And let's focus on this.'

'Right.' Ron nodded, determined expression somewhat counteracted by the pallor of his skin. 'How do we do this?'

'Well, I don't actually know how to ward off a Blast-Ended Skrewt.'

'Ward off? Just shoot it with your gun and be done with it!'

'I can't _shoot_ it; it's Hagrid's pet.'

'Ok, yeah, right. So what do we do?'

Hermione decided that it was high time for her to speak up. 'When settlers first landed on ES-5, they faced a similar problem,' she said, trying to keep her voice level. 'Killing a Blast-Ended Skrewt only resulted in provoking the ire of its kin. The settlers needed to think of ways to deter the Skrewts peacefully.'

'M'god, she's like a walking netlink,' Ron said.

'Go on, Hermione,' Harry said, marking the creature with his gun but trying not to shoot.

'At,' she drew in a shaky breath as a claw swung dangerously close to her face, 'at a first glance. The – the Blast-Ended Skrewts had next to no vulnerabilities. Their thick armour repelled most types of firearms, their flexible stingers targeted bare human skin with pin-point accuracy, their suckers–'

'Hermione,' Ron interrupted, 'it's really impressive that you know all that, yeah? But could you tell us _how to drive the thing off?_'

'Oh, right.' Hermione mentally skimmed along the next few lines of the netbook she had read on native creatures. 'Um, their undersides are the only part of them not armoured. And their blasts–'

Ron and Harry looked to each other. 'Blasts?'

'Hermione, get away from there!'

The rear-end of the disgusting creature lit up, and Harry and Ron dove to the ground, just avoiding the scorching projectile that propelled the Skrewt forward into the tree. To Harry's relief, Hermione had ducked down and jumped away just in time.

'Over here, get over here,' Harry called, and she ran into him, a blubbering wreck as she clawed her way into his arms. She had forgotten that they were barely even acquaintances. Ron's incredulous look served to remind her, but Harry let her forget, patting her head and trying to be comforting.

'Harry, it's coming back!' Ron squeaked.

'I can't get its underside from this angle,' Harry said. 'Hermione, what do I do?'

Hermione pulled away, face fluorescent. 'Er…um…their blasts. The settlers fooled them with man-made blasts. The Skrewts thought that they were enemy males, claiming their territory.'

'Well,' Ron began, 'we don't have-'

'Good!' Harry said, adjusting the ammunition on his gun from bullets to solar blasts. He quickly aimed at the ground beneath the Blast-Ended Skrewt and fired. The beast reared up and away from the flames that it created, but Harry wasn't finished. He aimed next at the tree behind the Skrewt and this time, the ugly creature turned tail and ran.

Before Ron and Hermione could celebrate, Harry said: 'Quickly, help me put the fires out.'

They all ran forwards with handfuls of dirt and patted at the fires until they were extinguished. Only then did they collapse onto the forest floor, completely stunned.

McGonagall was waiting for them in the main hall, taking in their muddied and slightly singed appearances. Her glacial mien commanded an explanation as effectively as her next words did.

'Would someone like to tell me what exactly is going on here?' Harry was about to prepare a lie about training when McGonagall continued. 'And why I saw the three of you leaving the _forbidden_ Hogwarts Forest past curfew.'

'Damn!' Ron cursed under his breath.

'It was my fault, Professor,' Hermione spoke up. Ron looked at her with blatant astonishment, but Harry managed to keep his face neutral.

'_Your_ fault, Miss Granger?' McGonagall asked. 'How?'

'I – I was curious about what was in there, about why it was forbidden, and I thought that I would be smart enough to take care of myself. But I was wrong. There was a Blast-Ended Skrewt in there and – and I probably would have died if Harry…and Ron hadn't been there to save me. They scared it off before it could hurt me.'

'Well, it was a very foolish thing to do, Miss Granger. You were indeed lucky that these boys knew to come and find you. 10 points from Raven House.' Hermione nodded dejectedly. 'As for you, Mr Potter and Mr Weasley, well done. 10 points to the Lions and 10 points to…' she looked down at Harry, flummoxed as to what to do, before saying: 'yes, well, aptly handled, Mr Potter. I suggest that you all pay a visit to the hospital wing.'

She strode off and Harry turned to Hermione, ready to thank her for (however rightly) shouldering all of the blame and (however wrongly) lying for them. It was too late, she was already running off.

'Are you as confused as I am right now?' Ron asked.

Harry simply nodded, and they went off to the hospital wing to get treatment for minor burns and singed hair. Hermione wasn't there.

In fact, according to visual sources, Hermione had run through the common room and straight into her dormitory. Harry, since he wasn't allowed anywhere near the girls' dormitories, could only listen to her roommates assurances that she hadn't flung herself from the window and avoid their inquiries into why he was so concerned. He didn't even know why. He just was.

He didn't see her again until the next morning, when he ventured over to the great basin to practise some flight manoeuvres. To his surprise, he found Hermione already there, sitting at the edge, not waiting for him, just thinking.

'Hello.'

Hermione, as he predicted, jumped, apologising profusely and preparing to leave.

'No, stay,' Harry said, sitting beside the spot she had just vacated and patting the ground next to him. The flight could wait.

'Why did you do it?' he asked, after she sank back to the ground.

'Do what?'

'Lie to a teacher. I thought that wasn't your sort of thing.'

Hermione blushed furiously and stared at her knees. 'I didn't want you to get into trouble for saving me.'

'Why didn't you just tell her the truth?' When she didn't reply, he persisted. 'What was the truth? Why did you run off into the forest?'

'You…you saw what happened, with Draco Malfoy. Everyone saw. No one likes me here. I don't belong.'

'So you ran off into the forest?'

'I didn't want to stay in the castle!'

Harry glanced at her. 'I understand.'

'It's just…whenever I'm there, he always seems to find me. Malfoy. I tell myself that what he says isn't true, but it still gets me somewhere.'

Harry sighed. He understood that too. 'Malfoy, yeah. His insults are nowhere near as clever as he thinks they are.' Hermione chuckled at this. 'But he's very good at sniffing out insecurities in people. You've got to, I guess, you've got to know that your insecurities are all yours. Your mind creates them, and if you feed them enough, then they'll be true. Until then, it's your choice if they're the truth or not.'

'You're sort of wise, Harry,' Hermione muttered at her knees, face going even redder.

Harry blinked. 'Thank you. I just think a lot, that's all.'

'You've had a lot of reason to,' Hermione remarked, observing the darkening of his face. 'I never thanked you, for saving my life.'

'It wasn't just me.'

'Well, I suppose Ronald–'

'No. You, Hermione. You and your knowledge. You're smart, Hermione. Without your memory we would've all died.'

'All I do is memorise,' Hermione dismissed. 'It was your ability to turn facts into action that saved us. You have intuition.'

'I don't think either of us are going to win this argument,' Harry pointed out and Hermione laughed, unused to this situation. Laughing with someone else, as if with a friend.

'You didn't need to rescue me though, Harry. No-one would have cared.'

'No way, Hermione! Don't you dare say that. People would've cared. I would've cared.'

'Why? You never liked me.'

'I like you now,' Harry said, before scratching his pink neck. 'I mean, well, when you're not talking about facts all the time, you're pretty easy to talk to.'

Hermione didn't know what to say. 'I wish I'd had friends. Then I wouldn't be so gormless in front of Harry Potter.'

'I'm your friend, Hermione,' Harry said softly.

A dreadfully high noise managed to escape Hermione although her lips were clamped together. Before Harry could wonder how or why girls did this, she lunged forward and snared him in another hug. Laughing uncertainly, Harry wrapped his arms around her until she chose to let go. 'Thank you, thank you, I mean, um–'

'It's not a favour, Hermione. You don't have to say thank you.'

'I know, it's just that, well, I think you're the first friend I've ever had, so…' She trailed off, mortified. 'Forget I said that. You wouldn't understand anyway! I probably sounded really pathetic, didn't I?'

'No, I understand. I completely understand.'

Hermione had the grace not to let her mouth fall open very far. Harry was glad. He already had one Ron; he didn't need another. 'But you're…you're_ Harry Potter_. Everyone loves you,' she admitted shyly.

'I didn't have a single friend for half of my life,' Harry said. 'I spent most of my days in hiding with my parents then here, alone in the castle apart from my teachers. I met Ron when I was six.' Harry smiled softly. 'He wasn't perfect: he said some grating things, he didn't fully understand me. But he was my first friend, and he stood by me, and I'm really grateful for him. You never forget your first friend.

'Even at Hogwarts, it took a while for me to make good friends, true friends. People who didn't hang around me to gain status or bragging rights. It took a while for them to see that I wasn't a walking title, you know? That I wasn't just the Chosen One, that I was Harry too.'

Hermione empathised. She always managed to build reputations up around her. The nethead, the teacher's pet, the scary genius girl. Beneath that she was Hermione, and people only had to reach out to her, just a little bit, to know. But they never did.

'Oh, Harry, but they see you now! They see that you're smart and witty and brave and loyal.'

'Slowly, yes.' Harry smiled. 'And they will for you too. I won't be your last, Hermione.'

'My last?'

'I may be your first friend, but I won't be your last.'

Their fingers met tentatively in the dusky grass, and those green eyes of his sparkled with promise. Her heart fluttered with something that she thought had been quelled weeks ago: hope.

…

Harry had been right. There were more friends out there. In the next week, Hermione reconciled with Neville, who much preferred her newer, humbler demeanour. Harry started a conversation with Padma Patil, Sue Li and Morag McDougall and drew her seamlessly in until they realised that her intellect was not a negative thing, but a key to more interesting conversation. She even managed to befriend her roommates, Hannah Abbot and Lisa Turpin, by herself although she steered clear of the two vindictive Snakes. Hermione sensed that she would never get along with pug-nosed Parkinson or vain Greengrass.

Whenever Harry visited the Ravens' table, he sought out Hermione, and she was always seen around the school outside lesson hours, walking the corridors with Harry and Ron. Ron, at first, found it difficult to adjust to this change, but they eventually learnt to at least tolerate each other. Soon the school began to view her as Harry's other best friend, and the small, select group that they operated in came to be called the "Golden Trio". Ron: the rapidly blooming strategic mastermind, Hermione: the brightest girl in her school and Harry: the sharp and formidably talented Chosen One. Some admired, others envied, Draco sneered whenever they passed. That was life at the Order of the Phoenix School. Harry wanted to say that he wouldn't change it for the Second Earths, but given the circumstances, he found it a bit inappropriate.

…

The next year two years passed easily enough. The student population expanded substantially as new years came in but the older years didn't graduate. Harry had a lot more names to learn and a lot less time to give to everyone, although he tried. Out of the additional years, the year directly below him was the most active in snaring his attention. Ginny Weasley, who still had a planet-sized fixation with him, Colin Creevey, who had managed to found a Harry Potter fanclub right under his nose, and Luna Lovegood, an ethereal girl who floated about the castle, were the most notable students.

Harry, Ron and Hermione became closer as a trio, though Harry was constantly having to put up with the latter two's arguments, and Neville became Harry's partner for early morning training. Every holiday, Harry went back to the Burrow with Ron, Hermione occasionally leaving her parents and doing the same. The Longbottoms, after finally accepting Harry's (unnecessary) forgiveness, invited him over for dinner where he encountered Neville's fearsome grandmother.

The students became stronger, better, more competent. The school was succeeding. However, there was a persistent rumble, fronted by the Ministry, that refused to be quieted. It stated that Voldemort really wasn't returning and the Official Order of the Phoenix School was all a sham…

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> And so the first arc finishes. The next arc will pick up in Harry's fourth year and will (probably) descend into moral darkness at some point. Won't that be fun?


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